Multiverse Effect - The Silent War
by RosoMC
Summary: I was taken from the comfort of my life and recruited to fight someone else's war, because I was greedy, ruthless and selfish. At least that's what they told me. The question is – do I really want to prove them wrong? / Self-Insert. Will feature several OCs.
1. Chapter 1 - Displaced Person, part 1

**A/N: It's a slow-burning story which will feature multiple OCs and a whole different universe before we reach the events of Mass Effect trilogy. It's both creative outlet for me, as well as an exercise in world-building and character creation. I wrote it as a SI, because it allows me to present the events from more familiar perspective and because I'm too lazy to design a whole new main character. The SI is author avatar, but as time goes by he will become his own person, with his own goals, morality and skills. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing!**

**My Beta is the one and the only Redentor  
**

* * *

**Multiverse Effect: The Silent War**

_**Summary: I was taken from the comfort of my life and recruited to fight someone else's war, because I was greedy, ruthless and selfish. At least that's what they told me. The question is – do I really want to prove them wrong?**_

**Chapter 1 – Displaced Person**

_Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety._

_Benjamin Franklin_

* * *

In retrospect, it must have been the unnatural white light that woke me up. It was so foreign and strange that my brain registered it as an oddity and alerted my whole body.

When I awoke it felt very different. I expected to wake up in our comfy bed in the apartment that we've been renting for the last couple of years. I could not hear Erica but that in itself was not strange as she often worked earlier shifts than I did and she was nice enough not to wake me up in the morning. What I did register though, was that I could not hear my alarm clock and that gave me a pause.

Alarm feature on my mobile phone had been equally a lifesaver and bane of my existence. I hated the preset sound, but at the same time I understood the need to use it lest I miss my appointments for the day. Sudden absence of the thrice cursed Nuclear Alarm Horn ringtone caught my attention and actually reinvigorated me. Usually, lack of alarm sound meant that I either turned it off or never set in the first place and that could only result in one thing – I was late for work.

But the room that I saw when I opened my eyes was not the room that I went to sleep in last night. It was incredibly strange in this retro-futuristic style that was oddly reminiscent of the 60's sci-fi series like the original Star Trek. There was a plastic-like grey bed I was lying on. Next to the bed was a nightstand of similar make which short inspection revealed to be empty. Walls were white and fluorescent and so was the floor. For some inexplicable reason one of the walls had a large mirror in it. Whole room was fairly spacious – 10 meters by 10 meters give or take. I had no idea how many square yards that would be. I never bothered to learn Imperial system as we never used it in Continental Europe.

It felt like a dream, but I was certain that I was not asleep. When I slept I was never actually aware that I've been dreaming until I actually woke up. I've read before that some people could dream consciously and shape their environment in dream scape. Perhaps I should have looked into it. Oh well...

I took a few steps toward the middle of the room. The retro-futuristic thing was getting creepier with every passing moment. It vaguely reminded me of the towns the Yanks had built in the desert back during Cold War to test the damage done by nuclear devices. To think I actually enjoyed checking out 60's sci-fi artwork in my spare time. Where the hell was I anyway? Did I wake up on the old set of 'Forbidden Planet' or something? I've done some crazy shit in my college years, but I don't recall being drunk yesterday.

In fact I didn't recall yesterday at all. Was I at home with my girlfriend? Were we visiting my parents? I couldn't say. I tried to focus on the last memory of home, but all were absolutely hazy.

I looked in the mirror and I did a double take.

'I look different' was the very first thought. I tried to keep in shape, I really did. But my sedentary lifestyle, my girlfriend's delicious cooking and considerable amounts of beer that I consumed with my friends made fighting against encroaching beer gut harder and harder. While I was still muscled and not visibly overweight, I was resigned to the fact that I was losing my lean and youthful physique.

The person who looked at me curiously from the mirror looked like a younger, fitter and better version of me. I had some snugly fitting gray coveralls which accentuated my body. My shoulders were as broad as usual, but there wasn't a gram of fat on my body. My stomach was flat and I even sported a six-pack which I didn't have since I was 21 years old and working out in the gym on a regular basis. Previously my body was nothing to sneeze at, but now I looked like a lightweight sports champion. It definitely looked nice but was deeply unsettling at the same time.

I blinked and noticed another thing. I didn't have my contact lenses on, nor was I wearing my glasses. Yet amazingly everything looked razor sharp as if I didn't have myopia in the first place. I wasn't sad to see my short-sightedness gone as I was planning to have eye surgery sooner or later. Nevertheless it was rather sudden and suspicious.

I took another look around the place I was in.

'Curious', I thought. 'It looks like some sort of interrogation room'…my brain trailed off, now taking in so many details about my surroundings that I no longer had space for conscious thought.

That was the best guess I could make, but the large mirror was sort of giveaway. Honestly, whoever designed this room could not be more generic. The 60's style furniture, large mirror, fluorescent walls – only thing missing was beeping vacuum tube computer. I could easily imagine that behind this Venetian mirror there was couple of guys with short-cropped hair dressed in vintage US military uniforms and crazy-looking scientist fellow with vaguely German accent. They would be all gathered in small observation room surrounded by multitude of cameras, tape recorders and rotary-dial telephones.

To be honest, if I was still in Poland they would probably look more like severe communist officers with peaked caps and every one sporting a Zbigniew Boniek mustache. Also, there would be two muscled non-coms in white t-shirts, dark trousers and heavy jackboots that would drag me out of here. I would have my fingers put in a vice and interrogators would loudly demand that I sign admission to treason and conspiracy to bring down the Communist Party.

Yes, those were interesting times. Not that I remembered them, but I've been reading enough history books to have a broad idea how interrogation worked back in the previous era. It might seem strange that I make fun of it but Poland was called the funniest barrack in Socialist camp for a reason.

Do you now that old joke?

"Why in Poland when speaking of Soviet Union we say 'our brothers' not 'our friends'?"

"Because you can choose your friends."

This joke is only funny if you were conquered and occupied by the Soviet Army at least once.

Snickering at my own wandering thoughts I shook my head, but in reality I felt that my situation looked rather grim. Someone took me from my home, placed me in unknown location, modified my body to a large extent (without my consent!) and left me alone in a creepy-looking room. I didn't think that anyone would have a reason to kidnap me, let alone pump me full of so much steroids and liposuction that I looked like Jon "Bones" Jones.

I wasn't anyone important. I didn't know any state secrets. My family wasn't especially wealthy or well-known so I couldn't be ransomed for any substantial sum of money. I did work by proxy for a large company, but nobody in their right mind would kidnap a corporate drone to learn some low-level trade secrets. Despite their ominous name, industrial espionage contractors went about their business in a different way.

I decided to risk speaking out loud once again.

"Hello, is anyone there?"

Silence was my only answer.

"Whoever placed me here I just would like you to know that I'm very grateful for Lasik eye surgery, liposuction and steroids injection, but you really didn't have to."

I waited for couple of seconds, but nobody responded. Was there anyone here in the first place? I now understood how Rick Grimes must have felt in the pilot episode of 'The Walking Dead'. Thankfully, apart from bed and nightstand there was nothing else in the room. Lack of medical infrastructure ruled out waking up in a hospital in Georgia overrun by zombies.

'Jesus, zombies? Get a grip, man!' I silently berated myself. Now was the worst possible time to daydream. Sometimes, I had trouble focusing on task at hand. Probably the reason I never got around to writing my BSc thesis.

I decided to try my luck again and call out to whoever was running this facility. They had put enough effort to make it look good so I was reasonably certain that they didn't bring me here for shits and giggles.

"Excuse me? I could really use the toilet now."

Again, there was no answer. I kept talking still. Even if I talked to the wall it kept me from panicking.

"You went through all the trouble of bringing me here and fixing me up, you could tell me what is going on. Believe it or not, but where I come from it's illegal to hold people against their will. At least tell me what I'm accused of!"

I shouted the last part. I'm a rather mellow guy and I usually control my temper, but nobody likes being locked up and ignored. To my surprise hole in the wall appeared and disembodied voice said.

"Please proceed to another room". It was a male voice that spoke English with Received Pronunciation. It could be one of the BBC anchormen.

It was either go through new doorway or stay in the room. Before I left I took a good look around the room to see if anything of use could be taken, but it appeared that apart from two pieces of furniture in the corner it was completely barren.

After crossing the doorway I followed a short corridor toward another doorway. I entered it slowly taking a long look around. There was just a gray desk and two chairs on either side similar in their design to the bed in previous room. Walls there were fluorescent as well. Behind the desk sat a woman. Her face was serious, she had her hair done in a bun and she seemed to be reading a document on a tablet. She was a brunette with blue eyes. Her face was attractive, but in a forgettable way. No one would give her a second thought in a crowded room. She wore similar gray coveralls to me, but hers were more business-like in their appearance and she had some chevrons on her shoulders that looked vaguely military. She looked up at me and said.

"Please have a sit, Peter." English. Thank God I was fluent in it.

I just looked at her and shook my head. I'm not a distrustful or paranoid person, but waking up in unknown place makes you wary of other people.

"Who are you and how do you know my name?" I inquired, also in English. I made sure to keep my tone neutral. I briefly entertained an idea to be obstinate and speak only in Polish, but I abandoned it immediately. She was clearly in charge of me for now, so there was no need to antagonize her needlessly.

Her expression never changed and her voice never wavered.

"Please call me Anneke, Peter. I'm here to explain you the situation you've found yourself in."

I reluctantly sat down. I've decided to play her game for now. This was getting weirder with every passing moment. I slowly came to a realization that it's going to be one shitty day. The possibility that it could go far beyond just a shitty day occurred to me…but I brushed it aside. Like I said, I was as close to innocuous as you could get. Practically the dictionary definition. There wasn't a single reason under the sun why someone would want to kill me.

"You never answered my question. How do you know my name?" I reminded her.

She looked me in the eye with serious expression.

"It's simple. I created you." There was no falsehood in her voice that I could detect. It was spoken with full conviction.

My brain did a double take.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I created you" Her tone of voice still hadn't changed.

I laughed loudly at her statement. This whole situation was bizarre and absurd. What kind of mind games was she playing with me?

"I'm pretty sure you aren't my mum, Anneke. You're a bit on the young side for that." I told her jokingly.

That was true. For all her weird clothes and conservative haircut she couldn't be more than thirty years old. Form fitting coverall did emphasize her shapely body. If situation was different I could consider her attractive, but 1) I was in a long-term relationship with the woman I loved and respected and 2) she was at least partially responsible for me being here. Nevertheless, I was a healthy male and just because you're on diet, don't mean you can't take a peek at the menu. It was a horrible pun, I know.

"I did not implicate I am your mother. I created this body and transferred your consciousness into it." There she went again with this flat, emotionless tone. This woman didn't even blink. She might have been discussing the weather with me.

I looked her in the eye. If my look could kill she would be disemboweled and set on fire by now. I responded very slowly and evenly, not letting my irritation be seen.

"Lady, you better start making sense right now. I'm not in the mood for any mindfucks if you pardon my French. I want my answers and I want to go home. In fact, you know what? Just skip the answers altogether – I don't care. Just send me home and," I waved my hands in what I hoped was a dismissive fashion, "do something that doesn't involve me." I was positively impressed with my reasoning. While I admit I was curious about this place and whatever was happening here, I've seen enough spy films to restrain my curiosity. Just the fact that I know about this facility may well make me dangerous in the eyes of whatever governing body that was overseeing this place. If it wins me a ticket home I will gladly admit to seeing nothing, hearing nothing and speaking of nothing.

"Peter, sending you home is impossible for variety of reasons." she replied blandly, indifferent to my foul language and unimpressed with my proposals. "This body that you currently inhabit is only a temporary vessel for your consciousness. When we determine your suitability for the mission your consciousness will be transferred to a new vessel in a prearranged universe."

My brain did a double take for a second time. As far as I could see she honestly believed in what she was saying. Perhaps when I went to sleep last night the lunatics have taken over the world and I didn't get a memo?

"Lady, will you listen to yourself?" I was completely baffled but I kept my voice down. "Temporary vessel? Prearranged universe? Consciousness transfer? What the hell are you talking about?"

Her face twitched impatiently. It was only a slight grimace, but I caught it. Well, it seemed like the sociopath had some emotions after all. I didn't care if she got angry with me. She was explaining absolutely nothing with her useless technobabble.

"Technically speaking you are not Peter ******** anymore. In fact you never were." She said coldly.

I nodded at her to continue. That didn't make much sense to me, but if I let the crazy lady do the talking she might let some useful information slip.

"Peter's consciousness was copied and placed in the body you currently inhabit. Your memories are unaltered for the time being and for all intents and purposes you are an exact copy of yourself." Anneke smiled and I decided she shouldn't have done that. Her smile was fake and creepy. "I understand you are a Christian?"

"I was baptized in Catholic Church. What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?" I asked incredulously. Then, a thought struck me and my eyes opened wide. "Am I dead?" I said quietly.

"The original is alive and healthy. Extracting and copying consciousness with the technology we have at our disposal is painless and leaves no damage. You could say that you have two souls now. One was left in your previous 'verse and another is sitting here with me."

"And where is 'here'?" I inquired. This was some sort of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. Either she was lying through her teeth or… well the alternative was too horrible to contemplate for now.

"We are currently in Sub-verse I-Temp no. 3, Alsmoor Facility 301/245, Interactive Dislocation Department." She recited promptly as if it explained everything.

"And what exactly is that when it's at home?" I think she was actually paid to be cryptic.

"It means that your name from now on is Peter Dubois. You have been drafted as an agent for Security Branch according to Emergency Provisions Act by Executive Committee (Provisional); Public Safety subdivision. In a three month time, after finishing your orientation training you will be placed in a universe of our choice with a specific mission to fulfill. After that you will be given option whether to continue working with us or to terminate your employment. I am hereby obliged to advise that request for termination is equal to destruction of your current consciousness…"

I held my hands up and interrupted her tirade. And the woman looked like she was just getting started.

"Wait a moment here." For some unfathomable reason I still kept my voice level. It actually felt like I had much better grasp over my emotions than before. "What do you mean I was drafted? On whose authority?"?

She obediently repeated.

"According to Emergency Provisions Act by Executive…"

The legal talk actually calmed me down. It seemed that even on multiverse level some things like bureaucracy and rule of law remained. Still, I was not subject to their laws, whoever these people were.

"I understood that. But here's the thing: I'm not part of whatever committee that voted on this act. I'm a citizen of the Republic of Poland and protected by its Constitution. As far as I'm aware neither Poland nor European Union are signatories to whatever made up documents you're quoting here."

I take back whatever I said about her before. She had a very sweet smile when she put some emotion behind it. Nevertheless, I felt like a fly trapped in spider's web. It was not a pleasant feeling, I tell you.

"According to our paperwork your name is Peter Dubois. You were created two weeks ago and kept in stasis for that period until yesterday, when consciousness of one Peter ******** was transferred to your body. As such you are considered an artificially created citizen of Sub-verse I-Temp no. 3 and thus eligible for draft as per Emergency Provisions Act. Failure to adhere to the clauses of the Act may result in penalties ranging from fines to imprisonment."

Anneke dropped the smile and looked at me sharply.

"Forget who you were before, Peter. You are no longer that man and there is no going back. You received new body and new identity. Your memories were left there to give you an edge, but you are a completely different person now. I am sorry for dropping it on you like that, but the sooner you come to terms with it the better." She even managed to look apologetic.

To say I was dumbstruck was an understatement. After all it's not every day that someone turns your whole world upside down. But I still had my doubts.

"How… how do I know you're telling the truth?" I stammered.

She grabbed my hand and placed in on her tablet. I felt a jolt as if electrocuted. That was my first encounter with the knowledge transfer and as they say – first impression is a lasting impression. When it comes to me and data-transfers no truer words were spoken.

It was painful, terrifyingly so. It felt as if metal handles gripped my head and squeezed it with all might of their pneumatic muscles. I couldn't even scream, because my throat felt like it was suffocating, and all I managed was a pathetic whimper. In the midst of this unbearable pain, memories and facts were being crammed into my brain – it's really difficult to describe. Do you know that feeling when you try to solve a problem and suddenly you have moment of clarity and enlightenment? That feeling when you finally have a solution and you even wonder how come you didn't see it before. Well that's how it felt for me. It was gratifying and extremely painful at the same time.

Thankfully it was a just brief exchange. It was only supposed to give me basic orientation in my new environment. But Anneke achieved her goal – tablet completed the knowledge transfer and I was suddenly aware of what exactly happened – even though she seemed surprised that it was so painful for me. I had a basic idea how my new body was created and how my consciousness was copied and pasted into it. Having memories of seeing myself unconscious in the tub filled with nano-gel was disconcerting. I won't even go to the whole construction process. Suffice to say that watching nanotech constructing my body reminded me of the Mila Jovovich's character in the 'Fifth Element' being rebuilt in a reactor. It was equally fascinating and deeply disturbing.

Again, I was left speechless. I couldn't feel pain anymore but I was deeply shaken. Knowledge transfer from the tablet (Flatline Interius 2250) also gave me insight, whether by accident or by design, into whom these people were and how things were run here. Apparently group who created my new body and copied my consciousness – of which Anneke was part of - were just one of many subdivisions of central inter-versal government called Multiverse Confederacy. One would expect that group which steals and copies people's minds would be run by a Dr. Evil of some variety, but it turns out that they even had division of power. They had legislative (Multiverse Parliament), judiciary (Supreme Courts) and executive (Executive Committee - Provisional) as well as whole bureaucratic framework necessary for running a modern state. They were basically people who mastered jumping between various universes and who banded together a long time ago. Over time as they grew in power, numbers and influence they formed what today constituted the Confederacy.

Until that moment I was determined to get to the bottom of it – find the guy (or gal) who took me from home and transplanted me into this strange place and convince them that I'm wholly unsuitable that they have no choice but to send me back home. It works well enough when you're dealing with a small rogue group, because chain of command is relatively uncomplicated and you can get in touch with the big boss easily to present your case. If they are reasonable and not too evil they will let you go – or kill you if you play your cards wrong – rather than risk compromising their whole operation because one of the pawns, like yours truly, refused to do his job.

But here, I might as well be hitting the wall with my head. The person who was responsible for bringing me here – Anneke if you were wondering – was literally sitting in front of me. She wasn't some crazy mastermind hell bent on taking over the universe. In fact she was just another woman doing her job – a very important job, but she worked 9 to 5 just like anyone else. Word came from above that she needed to take my consciousness, engineer a body for me and prepare me for some undisclosed mission. Person who ordered her to do that was just another face in the crowd, some mid-level analyst I would hazard a guess. At that's how it went all the way to the top: some people who went about their daily business and didn't really care about the big picture. Confederacy wanted me, so they decided to take me. They engineered a body for me, because for them it was as simple as tailoring a suit is for us. They took my consciousness without asking for my consent, because they didn't care about my opinion in the first place.

That's what the knowledge transfer made me realize. It gave me just the basic gist, but I had enough experience to know how these things work. Sure, it could have been fabricating facts for my convenience, but the end result was something so predictable and common that I found no reason to doubt it. I still wasn't happy about it, but at least now I could go somewhere from here.

I decided to appeal to Anneke, seeing as she was responsible for me for now. I was no stranger to emotional manipulation and I've never felt more justified in doing it than today. I looked her in the eye and spoke with a sorrowful, if slightly angry voice.

"Anneke, how could you do this to me? How could you just take me from home without as much as a good bye? Is this how you deal with everyone?"

Anneke either was used to such behavior or she didn't care. She responded evenly.

"I apologize for the way we dealt with you, but there was no other option. We required someone to do the job and you were determined to be most suited for it."

"Why?"

She consulted her Interius tablet for a moment before responding. I only noticed now that it had a holographic display – it looked cool, but we were in the future after all. It's the least that I expected.

"You have ability to keep calm even in very stressful circumstances if you believe that situation calls for it. You have no problem with lying and misdirecting others if it suits your needs, even people close to you. In the right circumstances you have shown yourself to be aggressive and goal-oriented. You are resourceful and ruthless. And most important – you are a social person, so you have no problems getting to know others and you are not above using them for your own goals."

That was… shockingly blunt. But most of all in my opinion it wasn't accurate at all. She made me look like some sort of mustache-twirling Bond villain who didn't care if he sold his own mother for gold.

"You are wrong." I responded coldly. "That is not who I am."

"Also capable of producing adamant denials to factual observations," she responded dryly. "Our observations of your behavioral patterns confirm that it's what you are capable off. Observations supported by your behavior at this very moment. It's not that strange you know?" She smiled again, but this time it was truly genuine. "Normal people put in abnormal situations will produce most extraordinary results. You will see." Her tone of voice carried a promise.

"But why you chose me, of all people?" I asked incredulously. "Why not snatch some technological genius or well-trained special forces operator, or whoever your 'mission' needs?"

I shook my head in disbelief.

"There must be people more suited for the job. You could bring Superman if you wanted to. Does he even exist for real?"

She nodded.

"In various universes you can find such people or at least with similar capabilities. We could have recruited him or her had the mission required it."

"Then why me?"

"Containment." She responded briefly.

"What do you mean by that?" I couldn't believe that they would rather send me when they could get James Bond himself if necessary.

"Regular field agents are easy to contain should one of you decided to go rogue and start working against us. If you were a Superman, then we would have much bigger problem on our hands."

That actually made sense. Surely, you could get some genius superspy with extra superpowers and all that jazz, but if he decided that he doesn't like working for people who stole him from his universe then what can you do to control him?

But Anneke wasn't finished.

"There is another reason as well. We, the Confederacy, believe in institutions not individuals. If you look at all the so-called superheroes they usually are nothing more than vigilantes. They don't report to any higher authority and many of them only care about their own code of honor, which is not satisfactory to us. It's true - we demand results and some degree of ruthlessness from our people. It's also true that our operatives skirt on the edge of the law and even at times break it. But at the end of the day our men and women are expected to work within the institutional framework, not outside of it. We are not like Cerberus from Mass Effect." she said.

In principle I could agree with that, even if I wasn't very keen on large government in the first place. Nevertheless, people have right to be alarmed when there is no control and everything depends on the good will of individuals. Anneke mentioning Cerberus got me thinking as well. It's all fine and dandy when the individuals with power are good people, but when that fails you get Saren Arterius from 'Mass Effect'. Wasn't that what happened in that video game? You basically had one super-agent go rogue and make a mess and not a single tool to stop him, apart from sending another Spectre, which didn't resolve the problem at all in the great scheme of things. I know that in the game it was more complicated than just Saren going rogue, but the issue remained.

What caught my attention during my Mass Effect playthrough was that characters in the game rarely focused on the very basic institutional problem with the Spectres. Their lack of proper supervision and only vague directive of 'protecting the galaxy' was a recipe for a disaster from the get-go. I was actually surprised that it took so long for the first Spectre to go rogue, but you have to admit – when it backfired, it did so spectacularly.

But Anneke was still talking and I focused on her.

"For that reason we not only recruit regular people, but we also do mental screening." She nodded at me. "We prefer men and women who do understand the need for cooperation and compromise, but who are also willing to do what needs to be done to accomplish the task. But we don't want loose cannons like Saren Arterius" There was the Mass Effect again. Was she reading my mind? "Or vigilantes like Peter Parker, who see the universe in black and white."

I perked up.

"Peter who? Oh, right…" Yeah, she mentioned Spider-Man. Superman, Mass Effect and now Marvel Universe. As if the day wasn't weird enough. "Okay, I get it. I understand that I don't have much choice now, whether I want to work for you or not?"

"No you don't, I'm afraid." Anneke responded.

"Alright, fair enough. I can rage against the machine but I can't fight it, can I?"

It was true. No matter how unhappy I was my situation, I wasn't naïve enough to believe that I could do something about it. Just like Anneke, I was well aware that there was no way I could refuse their offer. In addition, she basically warned me that refusal will be met with proverbial long rope and short stop as that's what deletion of my consciousness amounted to. Either way, I had no desire to go like a lamb to a slaughter. It was them who needed me, not the other way around. I just wanted to determine how badly, so I decided to throw a curveball at her.

"What's in it for me?"

Anneke looked at me and I could see that she was surprised by my question.

"Excuse me?"

I decided to use her surprise to my advantage.

"You heard me the first time." I said coldly. "You took me away from home, from my friends, from family and from the woman I love" I felt brief shot of pain in my chest at the mention of Erica and my family, but I pressed on. I hoped there will be time to properly grieve my people later. "You now want me to do your dirty work in whatever 'universe' you will send me to. So please kindly answer my question – what's in it for me? What do I get from helping you? Are you offering competitive salary or some generous social benefits?"

I smiled at her baffled expression and relaxed in the chair.

"You've made quite a recruitment pitch, I'll give you that much. But I will not work _pro bono_, because money talks. You've just given me quite a spiel about the rule of the law and putting my trust in institutions rather than individuals. In a civil society people are expected to be paid for their work. So, how does this _Security Branch_" I did the sarcastic air quotes, just like that Turian guy (Spartacus?) from Mass Effect. "intend to pay for my services?"

Anneke by now got over her surprise and nodded at me thoughtfully. She started typing on her holo-tablet. Before signing any documents I wanted to know as much as I could about what I was getting into so I continued. It was my personal, passive-aggressive 'fuck you' to these people.

"I also need to know about any occupational hazards and health insurance – especially dental coverage. I would like to discuss the holiday plan and good performance bonus while we're at it."

She looked up from her Interius tablet with a smile. Holographic wall of text levitated above the computer.

"I can see the Forecasting and Analysis subdivision made the right choice. You are smart, Peter. And I can't wait to break the news to the pen-pushers in Security Branch Payroll. They will have their hands full when they have to prepare full package for our review. I say, it serves them right."

We both laughed at that. I guess some things (like competition between government agencies) never change, no matter where you are. I had no qualms about using it to my advantage.

* * *

**EDIT: Some readers (thank you MizDirected) noted that First Chapter is too long if posted as whole. I decided to split it into two for your convenience.**


	2. Chapter 1 - Displaced Person, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though. - Just adding it as I forgot to include it in Chapter 1.

**A/N: Just a small reshuffle. I decided that posting Chapter 1 in its whole chunk is a bit too much, so it's now divided into two.**

**My beta is still the one and the only** **Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 1, part 2**

After sending a message Anneke asked me to follow her. She said that it will take some time for Payroll Department of Security Branch to prepare info for us, so we went for lunch. I didn't protest as I was getting hungry as well.

On the way I learned that her last name was Koeckritz. She was born and raised in Confederacy and worked in the Interactive Dislocation Department for four years now. She was also a psychologist, profiler and a certified law enforcement officer (last one was a surprise, but in hindsight not unexpected) who was personally managing one of the Consciousness Transfer teams. She was married to a man who worked as an independent contractor. It was a nice surprise to see that her cold persona was mostly used as an intimidation factor for newly woken agents. I actually found her rather pleasant to be around when she wasn't 'on the job'. Of course, it could be their way of keeping me satisfied and obedient, but to be completely honest I was slowly getting tired of being on the edge all the time. I've already been promised to be presented with the employment proposal by the accountants from Security Branch, so I decided I might as well enjoy the brief respite. I had no illusions that my previous discussion with Anneke Koeckritz was my last verbal battle.

As it turned out, only the two rooms and a corridor had been furnished in this 60's science-fiction style, while rest of the facility looked like any standard office, albeit a futuristic one. I suspect the retro-futuristic shtick of the waking room was another attempt at intimidation. I confess that it worked for me, as it kept me apprehensive throughout the whole conversation. I grudgingly admitted that Interactive Dislocation Dept. team was good at their job.

Rest of the facility was fairly small, but the activity in it was noticeable. Turns out that bureaucratic cock ups reached multiverse as well. Interactive Dislocation Department had couple of subdivisions. Consciousness Acquisition subdivision, for which Anneke Koeckritz worked, shared some of their offices with Forecasting and Analysis. It was understandable as both subdivisions were required to share their databases. But why on Earth would somebody place R&amp;D in the same building, let alone the same floor? Anneke explained that it was a mistake made by someone during the planning phase that went completely under everyone's radar until it was too late to change the arrangements.

It was curious that I didn't see as many people as I expected for such grand undertaking. Anneke told me that with the technology that Confederacy had at their disposal they didn't require many people or much space here to run things efficiently. Or rather, as efficiently as government-funded agency was able to.

I actually asked Anneke why she was so forward with providing me all the information. I thought that Confederacy must have some sort of Official Secrets Act, especially concerning the department which deals with what amounts to kidnapping. She simply responded:

"Consciousness displacement is common knowledge in Confederacy. It doesn't shock us any more than pornography shocked you in the 21st century. It's simply accepted as a fact of life."

She looked at me with sharp eye.

"And it's not like there's anyone you can run to with all this information I gave you. You are a recruit for Security Branch. They might not be visible now, but they have their eyes on you all the same."

It was a chilling thought, but if this Security Branch was anything like government agencies back home then it did not surprise me. The quiet gentlemen in black suits tended to be lacking in the sense of humor department.

In the mess hall I was introduced to the rest of the Consciousness Acquisition team who brought me to (new) life. All of them wore those ridiculous gray coveralls, just like Anneke and I. There was Olaf Christiansen, neurologist who was also a brain-mapper for my new vessel. He was a redheaded and red bearded Scandinavian with an infectious smile and optimistic attitude. It was really hard to believe that it was himself who extracted consciousness from my original body. Next was Matthias Gillespie, a dark skinned guy responsible for resolving all technical issues and programming in the equipment. Unlike stereotypical IT geek he was tall and muscular. Finally, Nicolai Vassilevskiy – a geneticist from either Russia or multiverse equivalent of it. He was the man who grew my new vessel and sculpted it into something useful. He was in his 40's with balding head and unbelievable skill at multitasking. He was reading some article on his Interius tablet, while eating and partaking in the discussion. He occasionally switched to a chess game he played with someone online.

Speaking of tablets, I was curious why everyone used the same hardware and I decided to ask the IT specialist about it. I was told by smiling Gillespie that whole department was supplied with holo-tablets by Flatline Corp. and not soon after there was a huge corruption scandal with one of the managers responsible for supplying new equipment. Manager was fired from his position in the Department, but he was immediately recruited by Flatline as one of their sales directors. I decided that Confederacy was closer to home than I initially thought.

They were really a colorful bunch. You could see that all of them, including Anneke Koeckritz, were very intelligent people, especially when compared to some random guy like me. Of course, one of the reasons for that as I learned was because of genetic manipulation and special conditioning that each embryo had _in utero_. Cancer wasn't an issue. Myopia wasn't an issue. Diseases of affluence, like spinal problems, obesity, high-blood pressure or diabetes could easily be prevented or controlled. Their brains computed much faster than anyone from my universe. Their medicine was like magic to me. Even such vanity issues like male-pattern baldness were not a problem – Vassilevskiy was balding because he didn't care about it either way, not because there was no cure for that.

Inevitably, conversation went back to the main topic of interest, which apparently was yours truly. Vassilevskiy was teasing me mercilessly, but I was never one to back down and it wasn't easy to embarrass me.

"So Peter, during the genetic mapping phase we decided to make your penis larger." Nicolai delivered this ridiculous statement with completely straight face and deadpan voice. Gillespie and Christiansen laughed at that while Koeckritz rolled her eyes, but she was clearly amused too. All four of them looked at me. If they expected me to blush like a virgin they had another thing coming.

"If you believe that the larger size of my manhood is mission critical then I fully defer to you. You are the experts after all." I responded with a straight face. The effect was soon ruined, when I couldn't keep myself from smiling.

"So what exactly did you do to my body? I noticed I look different." I asked after they stopped laughing.

Nicolai answered with a serious nod.

"We have tweaked your genetic code a bit to prevent any problems you might have had otherwise in the future, like lung cancer for example. You've been smoking frequently for about three years and you never really quit it afterwards, so it was bound to cause problems in the long run. We grew you a set of healthy lungs and removed some 'extra baggage'"

He pointedly looked at my now-flat stomach and continued.

"We have restored your brain-matter to perfect levels, although it seems like the side-effect is the problem with painful data-transfers – we will fix it soon, don't worry. Also, you are physically twenty two years old and your heart is as good as new. It will be a long-term mission so we try to put in your body as much potential mileage, so to speak, as humanly possible."

Nicolai looked around the table and put his hands together.

"Of course this Temporary Vessel was only our first attempt and I'm sure we've made some other mistakes on the way, apart from the knowledge transfer issue. Its sole purpose is for you to familiarize yourself with your new capabilities. The real deal will be the Main Vessel prepared for your mission. In that one you will spend couple of years at least."

At the mention of another body transfer I felt nauseous. Mission that lasts couple of years didn't sound very pleasant either. Anneke noticed my dismayed expression and said.

"Don't worry, after signing the employment agreement you will have three-month training with Security Branch. It's very intensive and among other things they will prepare you mentally for your task."

I wasn't really convinced, but I needed to know more.

"So who are these Security Branch people?" I asked. "Are they like your military or police force?"

It was Gillespie that answered.

"I was with the Security Branch for some time – to pay off my graduate studies. They always needed some tech geeks to keep all their fancy computers running." He snorted and shook his head. "They are one of the departments of Ministry of Power Projection. They aren't strictly military, because they aren't part of Armed Forces, but their field agents have access to military grade weaponry. Using your Earth as a reference I would say they are a bastard child of CIA, Special Forces and Soviet NKVD."

I raised my eyebrows at that. If he mentions NKVD of all people…? Gillespie noticed my surprise and smiled, but he didn't look very happy.

"They aren't nice guys. That's why they heavily recruit their field agents through Interactive Dislocation Department. Plausible deniability, you know?"

Matthias shook his head.

"It was one of the reasons that I quit Security Branch. Even working as a tech geek you still have access to some really disturbing information. The pay was good and people were okay, but I just couldn't stomach it anymore. I didn't want to go back to private sector, but when there was an opening in IDD, I put my name forward for transfer." He looked at me seriously. "I really feel sorry for you, just so you know."

"Ohh thanks a bundle," I said, with a slight hint of sarcasm, "And you still brought me here, despite knowing what's going to happen." I replied with a raised eyebrow.

Christiansen snickered at that. Nothing seemed to bring this Swede down. Anneke Koeckritz looked slightly concerned about the topic, but she made no motion to stop Gillespie from talking.

"What do you expect me to say? That I only _followed orders_?" he said "At the end of the day it's a job and we have to pay the rent just like anyone else."

I nodded thoughtfully. I looked around the table. Gillespie looked serious. Christiansen was relaxed and he was playing with the food on the plate. Koeckritz watched the Swede with a scowling face, but he paid her no mind. Vassilevskiy looked at the chess board on his holo-tablet and contemplated his next move.

"I don't blame you personally." I said after a minute or so. "I work for a living too. Or at least I used to." I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "I am unhappy with this mess, but pointing fingers and placing the blame won't get me anywhere."

I decided to change the topic to something slightly more productive than angst-fest. "So, is there anything you can tell me about working with Security Branch, Matthias?"

"I only have limited experience as you already know. Their back office looks like any other firm…"

"Firm?" I interrupted baffled.

"Sorry, I meant to say government agency. 'Firm' or 'mafia' is just the slang word for it that we used in the Branch. In fact, remember that. You can dazzle them with your knowledge of the argot." He and Christiansen chuckled at that. Vassilevskiy was still ignoring us and Anneke looked at me with barely hidden concern.

"To continue…" I said impatiently.

"Right. So they have IT support and accounting and all that boring stuff in the back offices. Things that aren't glamorous, but still necessary to keep the department running. They mostly employ civilian contractors to do their jobs. Then there is Internal Bureau. They deal with everything that happens on the Confederacy worlds and 'verses. Organizations too big for the local law enforcement to handle, inter-versal cartels, terrorists are dealt with by the Internal Bureau. They are the 'legal' part of the firm and I actually handled some of their databases. It wasn't anything damning or confidential, mind you. You, on the other hand, will be inducted into External Affairs Bureau. They are the shadier part of Security Branch and everything they do is top-secret and hush-hush. I haven't so much as glanced at their databases, but they still interviewed me for 2 hours when I was leaving the mafia."

"And what is their job?" I asked, dreading the answer. I've had sinking feeling in my gut since Gillespie's brief description of my future employers.

It was Vassilevskiy who answered my question. He looked up from his chess board and said.

"Covert insertion of field agents into universes, maintaining intelligence networks, off-the-books operations in universes non-aligned with Confederacy."

Jesus Christ, this was some Special Forces black ops outfit. It reminded me of CIA operatives who started wars in banana republics in the 1960's. And they wanted me in? I was wholly unsuitable for a job like that! Christiansen on the other hand looked surprised and intrigued. He shot me a quick look and asked Nicolai.

"And you know that how exactly?"

"I wasn't born a geneticist, Olaf. I used to work for External Affairs Bureau."

"But you just said that they only recruited clones like me from Interactive Dislocation Department, for the plausible deniability" I said skeptically.

"Don't be absurd. Of course there are people other than displaced field agents in the Bureau."

I smiled slightly at that.

"Well, here I was hoping that I will meet others like me and we can get together and complain about our terrible fate." I then looked Vassilevskiy in the eye and asked him seriously. "Are you sure we should be having this conversation now? All this info is bound to be confidential."

Nicolai smiled at us from his chess board.

"What conversation? We are just having lunch, that's all."

"Of course, Nicolai," I said sarcastically. "All we need is a banner above our heads saying 'Secret Meeting'."

I looked at Anneke and said.

"This is no coincidence that I'm being recruited into Security Branch and Vassilevskiy and Gillespie just so happened to work for them, am I right? You also have law enforcement background, so you know a thing or two about their procedures, I'm sure." I looked at smiling Swede and said. "I bet you're a commando or a super-ninja of some sort?"

"I like this guy." snickered Christiansen, neither confirming nor denying my suspicions. "Let's clone another one to keep us company when Dubois gets deployed. I'm speaking as an expert, of course."

From Vassilevskiy and Gillespie's descriptions it sounded like this Security Branch meant serious business. I suspect they wouldn't have recruited just anyone to create my new body and map my brain.

"By the way, which one of you 'experts' came up with a surname Dubois?" I asked. "I don't even look French." Well, to be honest I didn't look Polish either, but still.

It was Gillespie who answered.

"The names are actually randomly generated by a very simple program. Not to boast, but I wrote it myself." Matthias winked at me. "Besides, you could pass for a Frenchman. If it was dark and you wore a balaclava, that is."

"Why, you don't like this name? I'm sure we can change it to something different if it doesn't suit you." asked Anneke.

"Nah, don't bother" I waved away her concern. "What difference does it make – it's just a name. It's not like I'll meet anyone who knows me anyway."

My smile slipped away suddenly and mood at the table turned somber. I remembered my parents and my girlfriend and suddenly I wasn't hungry or chatty anymore. I got up and nodded at the team.

"Excuse me for a moment." I looked at Koeckritz and asked. "Is there a place where I could get some fresh air?"

She typed in some numbers on the holographic display of her tablet and suddenly I noticed a blue indicator stripe on the floor. The data package that I received during knowledge transfer confirmed it as Pathfinder app, which was integrated with my eye implants. I didn't know it then, but Pathfinder app would become one of the most useful tools in my arsenal. Still in a foul mood I didn't even get freaked by the strange new technology and simply followed the highlighted path all the way to a large terrace.

I've managed to keep my cool on the way there. I maneuvered between passing people, who didn't pay much attention to me. I suspect it was because I wore the same clothes like they did and I could easily be mistaken for one of the employees. I entered a large terrace and took a note of my surroundings. There was a couple of generic looking potted plants and a few steel benches for people to relax. The IDD facilities were far from general population for security reasons, but I saw in the distance a futuristic city of some sort, with tall glass skyscrapers and grand arcologies. Above my head there was unfamiliar sky with star constellations that I couldn't recognize. It wasn't much past lunchtime but stars and some gigantic planet were clearly visible. There were some flying vehicles crisscrossing the sky. They could have been airplanes, starships or bloody faeries for all I cared. Everything here looked so alien that I've never in my life felt lonelier and more out of place.

I could mask my feelings with conversations or laughter for a time, but I was stricken with a wave of sorrow. I've been putting on a brave face and talking back to the people who created me, but I knew I'd have my private meltdown sooner rather than later. And I knew it because I could only hold on for so long. I squatted behind one of the plants and hid my face in my hands. It was not a moment before I started shaking in despair. I couldn't control my weeping and I was shedding tears like I haven't done in years. I remembered my parents and my siblings. I remembered friends from my high-school, from university and from my workplace. I remembered Erica, the girl I loved so much. I would give anything in the world at that moment to see her red hair and her gentle, smiling, green eyes and to hold her in my arms for one second. If I could just for one moment talk to my parents and give a hug to my elderly grandmother, I would be in heaven. In the meantime my traitorous brain kept repeating.

'You will never see them again. You will never see them again.'

I felt horrible. There was no one to turn to, nobody that I could trust. I was apparently being recruited by some shady black operations and it terrified me to no end. How could they expect me to just roll over and go play their errand boy, when they took everything from me?

'No they haven't. You are just a clone with randomly generated surname. Your real self is probably having a blast right now, because it's a weekend back home. You're just an imitation of life – a pale shadow of the real thing.'

I sat down on the wooden floor of the terrace. Was it even a real wood? I didn't care.

'That's what you're good for – to be thrown away at a crazy mission in some random universe. Nobody would send a real human being to their death like that. But you? You're expendable, like a biodegradable shopping bag or a used battery. Even if you fail they could easily produce a dozen of your clones to do your job.'

I don't know for how long I sat there on the terrace. Nobody went there in the meantime – I suspect they had better things to do with their lives. I looked at the ridiculous skyline of a futuristic city and hated and despaired at my predicament. In a way my meltdown was cathartic – with every shed tear I felt the burden on my soul become lighter. By the time I picked myself from the floor I reined in my emotions. Sadness and hopelessness were gone, replaced by purpose and stern resolution.

It was true that I had no way of fighting the machine. One man against the whole of this huge, previously unknown Confederacy, those were ridiculous odds. Still, I did not want nor planned to be their loyal lapdog. If they wanted me to do their dirty work, we would do it on my terms. I will demand to be taught everything that could come in handy by their space NKVD, including every dirty trick up their sleeves. They will cough up money, people and equipment and if they don't like it then they are more than welcome to 'delete my consciousness'. It's going to be my way or no way. Had they thought about it, they would have modified my memories according to their needs. Well, their loss was my gain.

* * *

Coming back to the mess hall I felt really good and there was a determined vibe to my step. I still wasn't happy with my situation, but I was sure that if I threaded carefully I would be able to spin it in my favor. When I entered the mess hall again (compliments of the Pathfinder app) it was nearly empty. There were a few people on the far end, but they were engrossed in a quiet conversation and paid me no attention. At our table I've only noticed Anneke and Olaf and there was no sign of the other two specialists.

When I sat down at the table Olaf Christiansen said with a smile.

"So, did you enjoy our terrace? It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

"You have quite a view from there." I admitted.

"I think it's best if we go and meet Security Branch people now. I'm sure you are curious about the offer they put together for you." said Anneke catching my attention. Olaf was still smiling, but in her eyes I saw concern.

"Sure, let's go. Are you coming?" I asked Christiansen. He just patted me on the back, his smile never wavering.

"Nah, I'm sure your personal shrink will take care of all your business. Play nice kids!" he guffawed at his own joke and left the mess hall.

We followed him soon after, but took a different turn. We went back by the offices of the Consciousness Acquisition and Forecasting and Analysis departments. We entered one of the smaller rooms. There was a large table there with four office chairs and large window with the view of the city in the distance. I deduced that we had to be on the same side of the building as the large terrace where I've been previously. Two of the chairs in the room were already occupied by two men in black uniforms with silver trimmings which vaguely reminded me of the German World War 2 outfits. They even wore spit-polished jackboots and what I assumed were rank symbols on their collars. So the space NKVD dressed up like a bloody Gestapo – I wondered where they misplaced their leather trench coats and peaked caps. If I had any doubts about Gillespie's claims on External Affairs Bureau they were now gone. No agency in a democratic country would think of designing uniforms like those. But the outfits did their job – both of them looked very sharp, but also quite intimidating. Both gentlemen were broad-shouldered and most likely taller than me. They were also clean-shaven and had short-cropped hair, but that's where the similarities ended. One of them had olive-colored skin and dark eyes and he looked like a Latino football (soccer) player. Another one was blonde and had steel-gray eyes. Both of them looked up at us at the same time and the blonde guy without a single word indicated two unoccupied chairs for us to sit. As they had yet to introduce themselves I dubbed the darker guy Cristiano Ronaldo and the blonde, Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy was scanning the contents of his holo-tablet with serious expression and Ronaldo eyed me in the meantime. Anneke just sat down on the chair in a relaxed manner and I followed her example. I took a look around the room and noticed a large display on the wall. It was turned on and had some flag I didn't recognize in the background. Transferred data package quickly supplied me with information, that it was the flag of Multiverse Confederacy.

It was vertically divided in half with left side completely black with three silver stars and half of a cog in the same color. Right side had six horizontal stripes alternating between orange and white. Design was surprisingly similar to the flag of the U.S.A., but the data confirmed it was just a coincidence. Silver semi-cog on the black background symbolized technological development and supremacy. Three stars stood for the _Unity_, _Order_ and _Progress_ – three chief values of the state, where I immediately noted lack of _Liberty_. Apparently it was considered less vital than _Order_ or so it seemed. Six stripes were a reminder of six original universes that joined together to form the Confederacy.

Draco Malfoy turned off the holographic display on his tablet and looked at me. When he spoke his voice was carefully neutral.

"Mr. Dubois, it has come to our attention that you were seeking further details, concerning your prospective employment with Security Branch."

Prospective? That was capital. He knew that there was never any choice for me but to work for them or risk being terminated.

"That is correct." I responded. "I had only a brief description of what does Security Branch and its External Affairs Bureau do, mister…"

"It's Major Sharpe." He explained curtly and pointed to his companion. "And this is Captain Galtieri".

So it turned out that Malfoy and Ronaldo had real names. Captain Galtieri looked at Anneke and said.

"Informing the prospective field agent about the workings of External Affairs Bureau goes beyond the standard welcoming procedure for an artificially created citizen." He also kept his voice neutral, but I noticed a hint of dissatisfaction.

Anneke looked him in the eye challengingly and responded with her 'game face' on, not even slightly intimidated by an officer who was at least head and half taller than her.

"As a psychologist and Mr. Dubois' handler in the induction process I decided that briefing him fully on his situation would be most beneficial to all of us. Keeping him in the dark would only make him more hostile and less cooperative."

Galtieri shook his head, still clearly dissatisfied. Well, it seemed like 'spooks and 'eggheads' had a bit of rivalry going on. That was seriously cliché, but it just might come in handy. I decided to remember this little tidbit for later time.

Sharpe just watched the whole exchange with indifferent expression. He nodded at Anneke and said.

"Of course, Dr. Koeckritz, we have full confidence in your expertise. You are Mr. Dubois' handler and in this case allowances have to be made, even if it means altering our standard procedure."

He turned to me and said.

"Mr. Dubois, as you have undoubtedly guessed by now, Captain Galtieri and I are External Affairs Bureau officers. We are here to give you brief information on our work and present you with full information on your employment benefits as per your request."

He pushed one of the tablets toward me. I was surprised to see it was not Interius make, but Security Branch would probably have access to more durable and secure equipment. I pressed the holographic button and was welcomed by a wall of text. I skimmed the information on Security Branch and External Affairs that I already knew, as well as Security Branch Code of Conduct which I will probably have to learn at later date.

The benefits were actually pretty standard for a government agency, but for me who worked in the private sector all my life they seemed very generous. There were food vouchers (on them alone I could dine in a restaurant every day), full health coverage, pass card for various gyms, swimming pools and entertainment venues. Although all of it seemed very good in on paper (holograph?), I doubted I will have much use for it in whatever universe they decide to dump me in. But as they say, it's the thought that counts, no? Besides, it's not like I won't be having any holidays.

I checked the proposed salary. They presented it in Confederacy Credits, but they included a convenient calculator that could convert it into more familiar Euros or Polish Zloty with one click. They also included prospective bonus payments for multiverse deployments, which were pretty much guaranteed in my case.

To say I was surprised was an understatement. If it were a Disney cartoon I would probably have dollar signs in my eyes by now. Salary they proposed was roughly ten times as much as I earned back home and deployment bonus easily climbed into our millions. It looked too good to be true, but I had it in writing. There was even a signature of their HR woman.

I looked at Sharpe suspiciously and asked.

"You know that I have no experience whatsoever in military or espionage. I have neither physical training nor education that would provide me with skills that I might need in this line of work. Yet still, you have brought me here at no small expense and offer me some ridiculous amounts of money for my work. Where is the catch?"

It was Galtieri who responded. His voice carried a slight tone of condescension. I couldn't say if he was seriously offended or he was playing me for a fool.

"There is no catch Mr. Dubois. We are effectively what you would call a post-scarcity society. Our technology and manufacturing capabilities are well beyond your Earth. Scope of our civilization is much larger than even greatest of the empires in your history. We can afford to spend money on you if it buys us your loyalty." The last sentence was spoken with utmost conviction of a man who knows he is in the right.

Anneke shook her head at Galtieri, while Sharpe shot him an amused look and added.

"What my rather zealous colleague is trying to say: we are loyal to Confederacy because it is our country. You on the other hand hold no such loyalty and for a very good reason – we kidnapped you from your time and place. Nevertheless, we need you and we know you're a reasonable person. We can make our work mutually beneficial both on financial and professional level."

"It all sounds very nice and patriotic – I'm impressed. Still, you didn't actually answer my question. You're offering an insane salary to a total rookie." I said skeptically.

He leaned toward me and looked me in the eye.

"Putting money issues aside, we can provide you with skills, resources and abilities that are literally light years beyond what you could achieve on your old Earth. Yes, we will ask you to do dangerous things at times, but you will find that working in External Affairs Bureau is very satisfying and not only on financial level. We can ruthless or brutal if situation calls for it – I will not deny that. But at the end of the day you will be working for the good guys and making the multiverse a safer place."

Later on I would say that I sold my soul for gold, because perks for working with Security Branch were just that good. But at that very moment when I listened to Major Sharpe speaking his undoubtedly well-rehearsed piece, I felt like I wanted to become part of something greater and joining Security Branch offered me the way. This decades old aspiration to heroism that was long buried beneath my 21st century cynicism and selfishness was awakened in me. There was a time when I contemplated joining the army or police force in my old life, but I never actually had the courage to make that step. And imagine that – I finally had an opportunity to do it and no real way out of this.

I smirked at that – these guys sure knew how to play me and Sharpe's charismatic approach didn't hurt either. They appealed to my ambition, my greed and my immense curiosity to find out what they had in store for me. That's how Bilbo Baggins must have felt when Gandalf sent him out on his adventure in 'The Hobbit'. I stood up and nodded at both men.

"Major Sharpe, Captain Galtieri. It would seem that you've got yourself a new recruit. I'm looking forward to working with both of you."

I shook hands with the officers.

Major Sharpe smiled slightly and said.

"Welcome to the firm, agent Dubois."

Ah-hah, they dropped the slang name for the first time. I really started to feel like one of the 'boys'. Still, I couldn't resist my last cheeky shot at them.

"So, when do I get one of these Gestapo outfits? I would look damn sharp in it."

Sharpe, Galtieri and Anneke all laughed at this.

END OF CHAPTER 1


	3. Chapter 2 - In The Army Now, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though. - Just adding it as I forgot to include it in Chapter 1.

**A/N: Here is the first part of Chapter 2 for your enjoyment. This one is about 4k words long, but I will try and keep them at around 5k in the future. It may vary though, as I need to separate the document at logical intervals.**

**In before any complaints - the story has M rating for a reason. It will contain some mature content and readers' discretion is strongly advised. I will not be closing the door to the bedroom or to the torture chamber, so please consider yourselves warned.**

**My beta is still the one and the only** **Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 2 – In The Army Now**

_The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one's country_

_Gen. George S. Patton Jr._

* * *

As it turns out, they already had my black dress uniform prepared. I was equally dismayed and amused because I really looked in this uniform like a Nazi stormtrooper. It was ironic because first of all I was mixed-race and second of all, I always considered Nazis as nothing more than a bunch of goose-stepping thugs in shiny outfits. I was informed by Captain Galtieri who helped me with putting it on, that they were traditional uniforms designed ages ago in one of the countries that later formed Confederacy. Interestingly, the unit wearing them initially was called (in rough translation) the Republican Guard and from them Security Branch actually derived many traditions of their own. It was astonishing to see a universe where a Nazi-looking uniform was worn by freedom fighters.

I knew and accepted that I would have to adjust many of my preconceived notions, due to the fact that history of Confederacy had as many differences as it had similarities. They had their own tyrants and wars. They had murderous ideologies and genocide. Confederacy seemed to mirror Earth, if in a slightly distorted manner, because of small differences. I've only learned bare basics of their history, but in many ways it was the same old thing except on a super-cosmic scale.

We only had time to say very brief goodbyes with the team. All of them, except Anneke (or Dr. Koeckritz as I probably should call her) were taking a well-deserved holiday. She would be staying in the office to monitor my progress and check my mental health until I was cleared for service by the External Affairs Bureau. I didn't know the Consciousness Acquisition team for very long, but I was still sad to see them go – they were the ones who welcomed me to this new world after all. Still, they've done their jobs and now it was time for me to earn my pay. I was advised by Major Sharpe that I would be meeting the IDD team again when my consciousness is transferred to a new body before my deployment.

I was taken via hovercar with Sharpe and Galtieri to a different complex, which was in complete wilderness – it was literally in the middle of nowhere if there ever was one. It was very imaginatively called Camp Bravo Two, Training Facility and it had one tarmac road leading to it and one power line. The facility itself was supposedly run by Security Branch, but it looked more like a small military base and one that was still under construction. There was a number of prefab barracks for the men and few larger buildings that housed offices and other amenities. I was told that there was a vast underground complex as well, but it sure didn't seem like it from the outside. There was a parade ground and a shooting range. On the edge of the field you could see warehouses and garages and I noticed a couple of towers with their parabolic antennas aimed at the sky. All of it was surrounded by a wall made from reinforced concrete or something similar. There were also automatic turrets placed in the tactical choke points scanning the horizon and at least a dozen drones that patrolled the airspace constantly.

On the way there I asked Sharpe about my training. He said, "You will not be trained with the rest of the recruits, due to confidential nature of your assignment, but you will be taking part in some of their exercises as well as socialize with them in the mess hall during meals."

Galtieri added, "It is imperative Dubois that you do not disclose to the other agents any particulars of the mission that you will learn from ourselves or your trainers. When asked, simply inform them that you are an artificially created, displaced citizen. I'm certain that other trainees will know better than to further question you."

"It was my understanding that all the people in this base will be taking part in this mission? Why do I have to be so secretive about it?"

It was Sharpe who responded.

"Your assignment is fundamentally different from what the rest of the unit will be doing. It will all be explained later."

So when I finally arrived at the Camp Bravo Two I knew I will be the odd man out. No matter what happens, there would always be a barrier between me and other men and women who were born in the Confederacy.

After leaving the hovercraft, which took off immediately I was guided by Pathfinder app to my current place of residence which was in one of the prefabs. Apparently Sharpe and Galtieri were to bunk in the same building as me which turned out to be a barrack for the ranking officers. I waved them good bye and followed the short corridor to a room with my name on the small display. My room wasn't very large but it had a homely feel to it. How they achieved that, I had no idea as designers have clearly taken the minimalistic approach.

My room had one bunk bed, a desk with an office chair and a wardrobe (it was actually voice activated and I spent few minutes playing with it). All furniture was made from metal and looked very futuristic, but it was spartan in design at the same time, as befitting the paramilitary organization. There was a small display on the wall which gave me access to lights, air conditioning as well as connection to their equivalent of the internet. I also noticed a pair of speakers above the display, which I surmised were used for broadcasting across the base.

After setting the lights and temperature to my satisfaction I dumped the duffel bag, which I had with me on the floor, and with a small sigh of satisfaction dropped onto the bed. I felt very tired after the eventful day, but decided it wouldn't be fitting to fall asleep now, when I should be unpacking my stuff. I was quite curious what was in the bag that I was given when we left IDD complex, as I had no chance to actually check it out before.

It looked like it was made from normal black canvas, but it had a metallic shine to it. There was a magnetic lock that was DNA-coded and it apparently responded to implants in my hand. When I opened the bag I found my ugly grey coveralls on top of the pile. I placed them in the wardrobe on a hanger that seemed to levitate (it was actually magnetic). Furthermore I found a tablet in the duffel bag and to my chagrin it was Flatline Interius, model 2550. It was a little better than what they had at Interactive Dislocation Dept., but not much. As Gillespie explained before I left the IDD compound, Flatline holo-tablets were the equivalent of Apple products here: pretty-looking, overpriced and in reality not much better than the others. I could only hope that I would receive some more durable equipment for my deployment. I knew that armed forces on Earth had used special rugged laptops that could be used in much harsher environment and withstand much more punishment than their civilian counterparts.

Nevertheless, I sat on the bed and decided to play around with it a little. With all the training awaiting I didn't know how much time I will have to familiarize myself with the technology. I turned it on and a holographic image appeared. Computer played an opening jingle and a synthesized voice said.

"Good evening, Officer Cadet Peter Dubois."

'So I was an officer cadet now? Shit, they promote quickly around here!' I thought with a smile. Not surprising, since they could hardly send out privates to run black operations in non-Confederacy universes. As far as I was aware, and Sharpe and Galtieri have been very reticent about the mission details so far, my task would require both military capabilities and diplomatic skill. As I understood, apart from general espionage, if situation calls for it I would also be required to represent Confederacy in official capacity in negotiations and that would require me to bear officer rank. I had no idea why would they want a spy of all people to negotiate on their behalf, but it was nice to know that should the mission go south I won't be left hanging.

I'm not going to lie – I felt rather overwhelmed by the task ahead. I've had some experience with negotiations while working for various companies, but I've never been the one to lead them and most important they were never political in nature. I had absolutely no idea about this cloak and dagger business and my knowledge of military tactics and logistics was limited. Nevertheless, a small part of me was giddy with excitement about the task ahead, even if I would not admit that to anyone.

I focused on the synthesized voice that gave me instructions. It sounded as boring as it could possibly be.

"Welcome to Camp Bravo Two training facility. It is a pre-recorded training program, which is here to help you with acclimatizing in our base. We will start with the mission-critical equipment. Please open the side satchel on your duffel bag."

I scrambled to my bag and opened the satchel that was highlighted like in a video game – technology here was really awesome. I wouldn't be able to lose anything even if I wanted to. I found a strange looking bracelet, which had some sort of electronic microchip. I wasn't sure what to do with it so I waited for the recording to explain, but the voice was speaking about the duffel bag now. I sighed with exasperation. As the Status Quo used to sing – 'You're in the army now'.

"Official designation of your personal duffel bag is: Bag, Duffel Type, Dura-Canva, General Issue. All equipment included in it is provided free of charge to every recruit, but said recruit is financially responsible for it. Should any piece of equipment be lost or destroyed, recruit is liable to replace it. Reimbursement will be taken from recruit's paycheck. Clothing included in the set is as follows:

Working/Garrison Uniform, Grade D, General Issue + Spare,

Beret, Grade D, Blue, General Issue + Spare,

Dress Uniform, Black, Grade A, General Issue,

Dress Uniform Headgear, Grade A…

The synthesized voice droned on about the contents of the bag. I didn't care about it in the slightest at the moment, as I wanted to know about the mysterious bracelet that it asked me to collect. The recording never bothered to explain why I needed the bracelet in the first place while it was supposed to be one of the most important pieces of equipment. My patience finally running out, I shouted at the holo-tablet.

"Stop it, damn you!"

Recording stopped immediately and a bright, holographic image of vaguely humanoid body appeared in front of the display on the wall. Meanwhile, my tablet seemed to go into standby. The body stood with his (her?) hands behind the back. I heard a voice coming from the speakers above the display.

"Induction recording stopped as per Officer Cadet Peter Dubois request. I am Lox, Artificial Intelligence assistant for Camp Bravo Two training facility. How can I help you today?"

Great, I will have to ask a glorified computer for help. But beggars couldn't afford to be picky now could they?

Presence of AI did not bother me at all, to be honest. In 2014 Google was putting money by thousands into AI research and they hoped to develop one within our lifetime. I would be greatly disappointed if a civilization that spanned thousands of worlds and couple of different universes failed to create Artificial Intelligence with the resources and technologies at their disposal. Besides, artificial or human, Lox was the least of my problems right now.

"Lox, I need help with this bracelet. Recording said that it is basic and vital, but it never explained what it was."

Lox tilted his 'head' in a very human manner and responded.

"What you hold in your hand right now, Officer Cadet Peter Dubois is a military issue wrist-comp that you can utilize when your holo-tablet is unavailable. It is also a tool that will serve with you in the field, providing accurate network-centric battlefield data which will improve your situational awareness by at least 89 percent. It will also function akin to mobile phone devices that you utilized in your universe and provide you with 3D printing capability that can be very useful in the field. Bear in mind, that printing function on wrist-comp is much more limited when compared to holo-tablets, both in capabilities as in amount of material produced. As you are left-handed, please place the bracelet on the right wrist."

I followed AI's instructions and put the electronic bracelet on. It adjusted itself to the size of my wrist and suddenly an orange, glowing holographic display surrounded my whole forearm. My eyes widened in recognition.

"Holy shit, is that an omni-tool?!"

AI responded with the air of finality.

"Negative. It is a Nexus X, a military issue wrist-comp that you will utilize during your deployment, Officer Cadet Peter Dubois."

I grinned wryly at Lox.

"Didn't you mean Nexus Ten, an advanced omni-tool from the Mass Effect universe?"

Sadly, the AI chose not to respond to my teasing.

It all started to make sense now. I remembered my previous conversation with Anneke Koeckritz. She dropped Mass Effect references at least twice. Sneaky woman! Of course she knew where I was going. She was in charge of the team which brought me here, grew my new body and mapped my brain, after all. Sure, she was not allowed to tell me where I'm being deployed, but she dropped enough hints for me to figure it out, even before Security Branch decided to tell me.

'20 points to Slytherin, Miss Koeckritz' I smirked.

It was relieving to know something early on as it gave me time to prepare and prioritize things I wanted to learn in order to survive there. It seemed like I had Consciousness Acquisition team on my side. In retrospect, it seemed that they were suspiciously forthcoming with the information concerning Security Branch, especially Gillespie and Vassilevskiy. I was certain now that they broke more than one confidentiality clause when they shared with me what they knew.

But why would they help me in the first place? Why go directly against Security Branch orders, when they knew how ruthless External Affairs Bureau could be? Perhaps, as citizens of Multiverse Confederacy they were out of their jurisdiction and could not be prosecuted? I had many questions and no answers.

Then it struck me again. I was a fucking self-insert! As if my life wasn't complicated enough as it is. I liked the game well enough when I played it, but it didn't necessarily mean I wanted to go there in real life. Didn't Mass Effect have these large robotic Eldritch Abominations that wanted to destroy all intelligent life in the galaxy? I decided there that if they wanted me to stop or fight the Reapers I will gladly sign my resignation papers. But fuck, an omni-tool! How could I have missed that? Now I remembered some of the IDD personnel typing on their wrists, but their holographic displays were much smaller and I didn't make the connection straight away.

Putting this news aside I looked at the AI. Lox remained silent. I seriously doubted that Artificial Intelligence could get embarrassed by my previous questions, so probably he was just waiting for me to speak.

"Lox, can you explain why this recording listed all things in my Bag, Duffel, General Issue?" I said a tone of sarcasm in my voice clearly evident. I always thought that military naming conventions were a mouthful. Still, you couldn't deny that when spoken out loud they sounded professional if a bit funny.

Lox responded promptly.

"Standard procedure dictates that all equipment included in the bag needs to be double checked by new recruits to ensure nothing is missing. Could you please pick up your tablet, Officer Cadet?"

I did as I was told and turned on the holographic display. Lox continued.

"Please press this icon." One of the icons was highlighted. I tapped it twice. "This is the list of all the equipment that should be provided with the Dura-Canva Duffel Bag. You are required to go over this list and make sure everything is in place. All serial numbers, be it equipment or uniform have to be typed in next to the item on the list. Should anything be found missing it has to be reported to Supply and Logistics detachment in the main office building and a replacement procured. After confirming that all listed equipment is here you will need to sign a receipt form that is below."

I sighed unhappily. It seemed like it was going to be one of these fascinating evenings, compliments of Confederacy bureaucrats. I definitely wasn't looking forward to doing it. I looked up at Lox and asked.

"Can you help me with that, mate?"

The featureless visage looked at me and I could swear that he was smiling, even if I could not see it.

"It would be my pleasure, Officer Cadet Dubois."

* * *

With the assistance of the helpful AI I've been able to sort out my equipment. It consisted mostly of various uniforms and clothing that I will be using during my stay here, but there were also other things included. Usually recruits supplied their own toiletries, underwear and similar essentials. I couldn't do that, for obvious reasons so Security Branch provided them for me instead. Lox advised that due to my special status as an artificial citizen all of the equipment was provided to me free of charge. In my opinion it was only fair. They could hardly expect me to pay for it after bringing me here basically at gunpoint.

Next morning, I was woken up around 6 am by the ear-shattering sound of a trumpet playing through the speakers. I cursed and fumbled in bed. It was difficult for me to wake up in a new place and I briefly thought about skipping the day altogether and sleeping in. My, possibly misplaced, sense of duty prevailed and I got up from the bed. After all, I agreed to their terms the day before and I put my signature on it. I may be many things, but my word once given was as good as gold. Perhaps that was the reason I avoided the act of giving my word to anyone like the plague.

Lox appeared in my room again and advised me that Galtieri will be coming to pick me up. As expected, the cheerful Captain arrived soon after. He opened the electronic door and stood at the doorway with hands on his hips. He laughed at my dismayed expression, when I eyed his training outfit. Gone was the reticent and serious officer from the day before – Galtieri's grin was positively predatory.

"Rise and shine, Cadet Dubois!" He shouted at me loudly. "Get your training clothes together. We're going for a quick workout, now!"

I scrambled to comply. I've never served in the army before, but I knew quite a few people who'd been there. The two most important rules of all were to follow orders to the letter and to never question your superiors. These rules were even more emphasized during the basic training, when officers and noncoms were much harsher with new recruits to establish discipline and _espirit de corps_. So, without further delays I dressed quickly in my training outfit and followed Captain Galtieri.

A Quick workout to Galtieri's mind turned out to be not so quick, after all. I don't think I've ever run this much in my life. Despite exhaustion I noticed that my body reacted much better than I would have expected after such physical strain. My lungs burned, but I could still breathe with ease. My heartbeat barely increased. My muscles were sore, but they could still function like normal. If I attempted similar feats back on Earth I would be lying on the grass begging for someone to kill me, but here I barely felt it. I remembered Vassilevskiy mentioning that my current body was merely a temporary vessel for my consciousness and nowhere near the final product. If that was what _beta version_ of me was capable of I was eager to try the other one as quickly as possible.

"The Consciousness Acquisition team informed me that since you're new muscles have never been used, they will hurt more during these initial training sessions," Galtieri told me later, "But most of the pain will fade with time and practice."

After the run we had a quick stretch and I still couldn't believe how nimble and strong my new body was. Afterwards Galtieri commanded that we will go back to the barrack to have a shower, change into uniforms and head for the breakfast. To my surprise Captain didn't go back to his own room. He made a beeline to my bunk instead and opened my wardrobe.

"I see you've unpacked your duffel bag, Cadet Dubois. Good!" He shuffled through the wardrobe quickly, taking note of all the uniforms that I placed there. He paused and yanked one piece of clothing from the wardrobe.

"What the hell is that? Are these the IDD coveralls?" he asked incredulously, staring at the ugly piece of clothing.

"Yes sir. They were in my duffel when I unpacked it, sir." I responded, standing at attention.

Galtieri just shook his head and placed them back in the wardrobe. He instead pulled out what I recognized as Working/Garrison Uniform, Grade D, General Issue. Yes, I've memorized them all yesterday evening as was expected of me.

"Put these on, after you finish your shower. A uniform tunic mustn't be tucked into the trousers; you will keep it outside and fasten it with a belt. The belt is to be placed on the level of your navel. For everyday use wear a grey t-shirt under the tunic as white collared shirts with grey neckties are reserved for semi-formal occasions. Trousers should be folded above the boots – elastic bands inside the trouser leg will keep them in place. A beret is to be worn angled to the left – you're left, not my left." he passed me a blue beret without any unit insignia.

I grabbed the uniform and waited for him to let me use the shower. Captain Galtieri turned away from me and looked out of the window, where some unit was doing the parade drill. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still lecturing me I would think that captain forgot about me altogether.

"What we are doing today will become a routine for you, Cadet Dubois. You are still new here so I will be going easy on you today, but don't expect any preferential treatment down the line."

"Yes sir."

He turned away from the window and looked at me.

"We only have three months to train you to a level of an elite operative. Even with transferring data through holo-tablets," I cringed at the memory of the painful knowledge transfer, "We will have a very tight schedule. We must organize our time in the most efficient way and that is one of the reasons you are trained solo, instead of being placed with one of the regular companies."

"You may stand at ease." He added noticing that I still stood at attention. I relaxed my pose, still standing awkwardly in my sweaty workout clothes and holding fresh uniform fatigues in my hands. "Do you have any further questions?"

"Yes sir. You mentioned that we have only three months for training – why is that? I would have thought that we'd have all the time in the world to prepare for the mission, sir?"

Captain Galtieri actually smiled at that.

"Good thinking, officer cadet. To answer your question: External Affairs Bureau of the Security Branch in its infinite wisdom decided that three month time is sufficient to train the displaced, artificial citizen up to the standards of a field agent. Of course, this decision was based on calculations made by some analyst who's never set a foot in the field. It's for the same reason that you do not have a proper NCO putting you through the basic training. Bureaucracy here works the same as it worked in your universe, Cadet Dubois. In short – we have 3-month period allocated to turn you into not only a mean, lean fighting machine, but also thinking and scheming one."

His smile disappeared and his face turned serious again.

"Now get to the shower and put on some proper fatigues, Cadet Dubois! On the double!"

I did an about-face and followed my Pathfinder app to the showers.

**A/N: I just know that name 'wrist-comp' was used in Mass Effect fanfiction before, but for the love of God I can't remember which story was that. If anyone remembers, please either send me a PM or a review, so I could contact the author and belatedly ask for his/her permission to use this name.**


	4. Chapter 2 - In The Army Now, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 2. It is slightly longer at nearly 7k words to compensate for previous shorter update. Hope you enjoy it! Due to the whole mess with splitting the First Chapter, I'm posting it earlier than planned.**

**Beta is still the one and the only ****Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 2, part 2**

After putting on my uniform I checked myself in the mirror. I admit that I looked very professional as my hair was still very short and reminiscent of military haircut. Thanks to Galtieri's instructions I knew how to wear my uniform according to regulations and not even Lox could find any fault with it. The fatigues had pixelated camouflage pattern with black, dark grey and light grey patches rather similar to American ACUs. I wore dark grey boots with it, grey dura-canvas belt and a blue beret, which I angled to the left hand side like the French Army did. I had no distinctions on my uniform apart from the silver Confederacy semi-cog and three stars on the collar, which marked me as an Officer Cadet.

As per Galtieri's instructions I showered and dressed in fifteen minutes and waited for him in the corridor. He was dressed in the same uniform, but he wore a flash on his blue beret – it represented a coiled serpent, but I had no idea what that meant. Captain Galtieri motioned me to follow and I fell into step beside him, resolved to ask about the coiled serpent flash later. We crossed the parade ground and entered one of the larger buildings, which housed the mess hall. We passed a short corridor, which was empty with the exception of few latecomers who hurried into the hall to catch the breakfast.

The moment we entered the mess hall I was aware that many eyes were on me. Recruits had no way of knowing who I was beforehand as I lived in the officer's prefab and I did not take part in their exercises yet. Many of them probably were curious who I was and I couldn't help but overhear few murmurs. I felt very apprehensive, but decided to put on a brave face as I confidently marched next to captain, following him into the officers table. Galtieri stood at attention in front of the table and presented me to the sitting officers. Apart from Major Sharpe I did not know any of men and women at the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Officer Cadet Peter Dubois, our newest recruit from Interactive Dislocation Department. It's his first day in the mafia." He finished the introduction with a smile.

I stood at attention and saluted crisply. The Confederacy salute was very similar to the one used by British and Commonwealth militaries on Earth. You saluted with your right hand and its palm facing forward. The salute could only be performed when you were wearing a headgear and soldiers were also required to salute indoors.

Officers nodded politely at me with smiles of their own. There were about two dozen of them at the table, apart from Major Sharpe. The Asian looking gentleman that sat in the middle and seemed to be in his 50's greeted me first, "Welcome to Security Branch, Officer Cadet Dubois. My name is Brigadier General Edouard Anjou and I am in charge of this training facility in addition to commanding the 213th Infiltration Brigade stationed here. Please have a seat." He indicated one of the empty chairs at the table – it was the one across from General with my blinking name on its display. It seemed like they thought of everything.

I may be stereotyping a little, but despite his French-sounding name Brigadier General Anjou reminded me very much of Imperial Japanese officers. His graying, short cropped hair and sharp eyes only cemented that impression. There was no doubt that he was a veteran soldier and I suddenly felt very inadequate in his presence.

"Yes sir, thank you sir." I responded with a quick nod and took the offered seat. I took of my beret and placed it under one of the shoulder straps as other officers did. I looked up at General Anjou and he nodded at me. Great, now I was sitting across from those all-seeing eyes – as if I wasn't nervous enough. A plate with a healthy portion of bacon, eggs and bread was placed by a flying automaton along with a cup of coffee with milk and brown sugar. The workout made me very hungry so I quickly tucked in, hoping against all hope that I won't have to make small talk with the officers of this space NKVD.

No such luck, of course. One of the female officers, an attractive blonde who seemed to be in her late twenties addressed me. She wore colonel's insignia on her collar.

"Officer Cadet Dubois, how old are you exactly?"

"I was twenty six years old when I was taken from my 'verse, but the temporary vessel that I currently inhabit is physically twenty two, ma'am." I explained.

She nodded thoughtfully at that and pursed her lips cutely. I caught myself staring at her mouth and amused look in her eyes confirmed that she was aware of it. It was a blunder of monumental proportions, as she was my superior by three ranks at least, but it didn't seem like anyone else noticed. Blonde colonel didn't comment on it out loud, for which I was immensely grateful. Only now I realized that I've seen quite a few women here and all of them could be considered at least attractive. I guess I shouldn't be surprised – for a civilization that could throw money away to create a brand new body and transfer consciousness from different universe altogether, some minor adjustments to genetic code would be a simple fix.

Blonde colonel asked me a few questions about my previous life, which I answered to the best of my abilities, trying to at least appear professional about it. I was still quite embarrassed about my previous behavior but I would keep appearances no matter what. I also noticed that some officers while outwardly appearing disinterested in the topic nevertheless listened carefully to what I said. One or two of them even had their wrist-comps (omni-tools?) out and it seemed that they were comparing notes. If my rather bland life story got such a reaction from them it could only mean one thing – whatever mission they were sending me on was vitally important to Security Branch and they were taking every single detail into consideration. While on intellectual level I was always aware of the risks and potential gains it was only sitting here, surrounded by trained soldiers and spies that hung on my every word, which made me realize the huge responsibility that was on my shoulders now.

I've eaten my share of breakfast with gusto and drank all the coffee from the provided cup. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked around the table, wondering what's going to happen now. From what I saw most of the people either finished eating or were nearly done. It seemed like everyone was waiting and looking at the Brigadier General Anjou. The old veteran cleared his throat and stood up from his seat. All conversations in the mess hall halted. Every recruit and officer stood up as well and I followed their example. Brigadier General Anjou swept the mess hall with his sharp eyes and said loudly. His voice carried a commanding presence.

"Today we welcome to our ranks Officer Cadet Peter Dubois. I expect each and every one of you to extend him the same courtesy that you would show to any officer."

I noticed some soldiers giving me a quick look, but most of them proved their discipline by staring straight ahead. Everyone stood at attention for a couple of seconds more when one of the non-coms at the table further down shouted.

"Morning meal concluded! All units, dis-missed!"

I watched curiously as soldiers filtered out of the mess hall in a near complete silence. Not a single word was spoken and you could only hear subdued shuffling of the feet as soldiers marched out one by one. Seeing as there were at least three hundred souls in the large mess hall it was very impressive. I looked at Captain Galtieri and he nodded at me. I followed him swiftly outside. When captain turned to me I stood at attention, waiting for him to speak first.

"Follow me to the armory, Dubois. Normally we wouldn't have supplied you with weapons or armor this early in training, but the circumstances are exceptional. Your profile shows that you have fairly extensive theoretical knowledge of firearms of your 'verse, but only very basic practical familiarity – we will work on rectifying that."

We walked away from the mess hall deeper into the building. The architecture of the large facility was also very spartan, similarly to the prefab barracks for soldiers. Workers tried to liven it up a little by putting a potted plant here and there but they would have better results if they tried to decorate a morgue. The walls were dark blue for some reason and there were fluorescent lights at equal intervals to lighten the way, but other than that the offices were sterile and boring. I followed Captain Galtieri as we passed various cubicles. There were clerks in Security Branch uniforms everywhere, typing on holo-tablets. The plate on one of the doors informed that it was the Accounting, Supply &amp; Logistics subdivision – not the most excitable job in the firm, but one that was necessary to keep things running.

'At least the pen-pushers, unlike field agents, are guaranteed to live long enough to collect their generous pension.' I thought wryly.

We left the accountants behind us and took a ramp that led us down. I calculated we must have gone beneath the surface proving wrong my theory about the lack of underground complex. The quick scan that I did with my wrist-comp also displayed a small map confirming that there was much more to the Camp Bravo Two than just the surface base. Here the walls were dark grey and made of some hard metal. Lights here seemed to be the same fluorescent bulbs that we encountered upstairs, but they seemed much colder. Despite wearing full uniform I shivered slightly. Finally, we reached our destination. There were two guards standing in front of a large and very robust durasteel door with large white letters that said: 'Armory no. 3'. The door was placed in a wall that looked like it could withstand a direct hit from an RPG. Knowing the Security Branch and their paranoia it probably would.

I took a good look at the guards as it was the first time I saw anyone here fully armed and kitted. Surprising, considering that we were in a military base, but so far I'd only seen a few officers and gate guards that had sidearms with them. These two guards at the armory wore some sort of rugged-looking, full body combat armor. It had the same gray pixelated pattern that you could find on the Security Branch fatigues. Both of them had full face helmets with narrow visors. Their body language said it all – they were professionals who would not hesitate to kill us should we prove to be hostile.

Galtieri activated his wrist-comp and transferred his access codes to one of the guards, who turned on his own computer and scanned it. Meanwhile, the other guard never stopped eyeing both of us with a PDW nonchalantly held in his hands.

After a few seconds the guard with wrist-comp moved to the side while still typing on the display and the door to the armory opened with a hiss. Galtieri nodded at the guards, who stood at attention and we entered the room.

I noticed that armory was very large, nearly half the size of the mess hall where we had breakfast and if the name was anything to go by there were at least two more of them. There were couple of work benches with some tools I did not recognize and multiple weapon cabinets placed in neat rows. Each cabinet was filled to the top with various firearms. There were assault rifles, carbines, heavy machineguns and pistols. I even noticed something similar to anti-materiel rifle from Earth and at least a dozen rocket launchers. There seemed to be enough weapons here to arm all recruits twice and there would still be some left. It only increased my suspicion that Camp Bravo Two was something more than just a training facility.

That train of thought had to cease as Galtieri marched over to one of the plasteel crates. It was large enough to be a sarcophagus. He connected his wrist-comp wirelessly to the lock, typed in password and the lid of the grate raised slowly. I noticed that white clouds of vapor escaped the plasteel crate as if the contents of it were kept in freezing temperature. It looked pretty ominous, but contents of the crate were basic: there was armor similar in design to the ones the guards wore, but leaner and less bulky. Helmet was also full face, but the visor was slightly larger. Unlike the guards whose armors were adorned with chevrons, unit badges and Confederacy flag on the armguards; this one had no distinctions whatsoever. I looked at Galtieri and asked the obvious question.

"Sir, is this my armor?"

Galtieri nodded.

"Correct. I want you to take off your uniform, apart from the underwear. You will put on the skinsuit as that will allow you to fully connect with your armor's AI. Afterwards I will show you how to put your plates on."

I decided to ask the question that was bugging me since this morning.

"Sir, what does the coiled serpent on your beret stand for?"

Captain looked at me quizzically and said.

"It's the unit insignia of 591st Special Operations Battalion, codename 'Vipers' of the Confederate Special Forces Command. We are comparable to British SAS, American Delta Force or your Polish GROM with one, but fairly significant difference. It's the only unit in Confederate Armed Forces which takes part in Security Branch, External Affairs Bureau operations. Of course, you won't hear about it in the newsreels. 'Vipers' personnel are also forbidden to wear their Security Branch medals on their Army uniforms."

"Of course, sir." I agreed. After all, the most important military operations are the ones of which civilians will never know about, and government won't be boasting about. But my curiosity was piqued and I asked Galtieri.

"Do you have any good stories from your time with the 'Vipers', sir?"

Captain Galtieri seemed to ponder my question and finally responded with a question of his own.

"Can you keep a secret, Dubois?" he asked, leaning in confidentially.

"Yes, sir!" I responded enthusiastically, eager to hear some juicy story.

"So can I." he said with a smirk. (1)

I smiled, knowing that I've been had. To be completely honest, I shouldn't have expected that Galtieri would be talking freely about those operations. Even back on Earth, real Special Forces operators were famous (or infamous) for being exceptionally tight-lipped about their time during the service. It was the fake internet tough guys who tended to boast about their supposed exploits in all sorts of military outfits.

Speaking of which, I had another question to Galtieri.

"Sir, will I be assigned to some unit like other recruits, after my training is complete?"

"Of course, Dubois. You may be an artificially created citizen, but you will still be part of our chain of command. You will be placed directly under my command and we are part of 3rd Battalion, 213th Inflitration Brigade. Our battalion commander is Major Sharpe who reports directly to Brigadier General Anjou who is in charge of the brigade. Strategically our brigade is an independent unit and it falls under no. 524 Security District."

"Yes sir," I answered crisply. "Uhm, what does that mean sir?"

Galtieri looked at me with exasperation.

"It's your unit designation, Dubois. You need to remember the battalion and brigade number if anyone asks. The number of the Security District indicates the universe which falls under our responsibility, but its way above your pay grade."

"Which universe is that?"

"That will be addressed during your debriefing with Major Sharpe, later today. Now, let's get what we came here for."

We turned back to the plasteel crate. Galtieri took out his tablet and started cataloguing the parts stored in it. It seemed ridiculous as the crate was obviously sealed when we got here, so whatever was placed there before would still be inside. I was wondering whether in Security Branch you had to provide written inquiry if you wanted to go use a bathroom.

"I'm afraid that a knowledge transfer will be required as we simply do not have time to do full Armor Combat Training, seeing as you have to yet integrate with the AI."

Captain looked slightly apologetic when he said the next part.

"I was made aware by Dr. Koeckritz that your body reacts badly to data transfer via holo-tablet – it must be one of the drawbacks of the Temporary Vessel. I'm sure that your final body will not have this flaw, but there is nothing we can do for now."

"Understood, sir. I will grit my teeth and deal with it." Perhaps it was foolish bravado or mule-headed stubbornness on my side, but I really meant it when I said it.

I picked up the skinsuit and went behind the crate to change. After putting it on I went back to Galtieri who was taking out pieces of my new armor. He waved me closer and explained.

"This is Interceptor Full Body Armor - lightweight model. It's a trimmed down version of standard issue ballistic armor supplied to Security Branch Tactical Squads as well as Confederacy Armed Forces. This and its heavier version will be provided to you during your deployment and you will be wearing them according to the mission parameters." Galtieri smiled slightly "Of course, final decision on which of the armors to wear will be at your sole discretion. A word of advice though – If you have even the slightest indication that you will need to vacate premises very fast, choose the lighter armor. It's still very durable, but there are few attachments that will make you very hard to catch or locate."

I raised my eyebrows at that.

"So the lighter armor is for stealth and heavier armor for combat, sir?"

Galtieri rapped his knuckles on the chest piece of the lightweight Interceptor.

"That's putting it very simply but in essence you're right, Dubois. Even the light version is a formidable piece of equipment, though. It will stop 90 percent of modern ammunition at long-to-medium distance and it will protect you from pistol and sub-machinegun calibers at short range. We also included a very efficient energy barrier to slow down projectiles and dissipate energy and plasma weaponry."

Captain helped me with putting the armor on. All in all, it wasn't very complicated but it still took some time. I was also told that in emergency situations soldiers were required to put it on in less than three minutes. As expected, I was a long way from such proficiency so I was still struggling with one of the gauntlets after ten minutes. After the suit was sealed I activated the uplink with my combat AI. At the same time Galtieri linked his tablet with my wrist-comp and I cringed in pain. While the transfer was more bearable than before it was still incredibly painful and my throat was too contracted for me to even whimper. Once again, I felt the familiar and feeling of the data package being crammed into my head. To my surprise, I found out that some of the info was actually Galtieri's personal memories.

All of a sudden I saw an unknown world through his eyes. I found myself wearing a bulky combat armor and carrying an assault rifle. People from my unit and I were creeping through some dense forest in the middle of the night. Suddenly, there was a flash of a signal flare fired upwards and a man behind me swore loudly. The forest became bright as during the day and rebels opened fire on us. All our soldiers dove for cover as lines of tracer fire flew above our heads. The loud, whizzing sound of fired projectiles filled my ears. As quickly as it started, the memory ended and my mind skipped to another one.

I was flying through the atmosphere in a heavy armor, surrounded by a kinetic field. I could see other troopers being launched from shuttles overhead. I noticed one of the shuttles getting hit by a rocket. The machine rocked back and started losing altitude rapidly. Fear clenched my throat as my AI guided armor approached surface of the planet, zigzagging between shots fired by the flak artillery groundside. I barely started to recognize larger buildings and swaths of forests, when another memory kicked in.

My right arm felt as if hit by a sledgehammer and my body did an about-face of its own volition. One moment I was running between two ruined concrete buildings and the other I was laying on my back watching the burning sky. Groaning, I turned my head to see what sort of damage was done to my body. I felt bile rising in my throat when instead of my right hand I noticed a bloody stump. My right arm laid further down the broken tarmac road, still holding the grip of a submachine gun. My vision slowly went dark as I slipped into unconsciousness and into yet another memory.

My fireteam disembarked from the shuttle in the middle of the city square. Artillery was pounding the city strongpoints with indirect fire and you could hear the roar of close air support aircraft as they emptied their munitions containers into entrenched defenders. Our bird came down under the suppressing fire from nearby office building. One of our spotters scanned the building and pinpointed machine gunner in my HUD. I lifted my grenade launcher while armor's AI calculated the trajectory of the shot and I fired three grenades in quick succession effectively silencing the machine gun. I barked short order through the radio and my men started advancing toward the objective.

I opened my eyes hyperventilating, fully expecting another memory to start, but I found myself back in the Camp Bravo Two armory. Sometime during my data transfer I slipped down on the floor and now I was sitting on it with my back propped against the side of the plasteel container. I felt all my muscles and joints hurt with pulsating pain, but it was quickly muted when my armor's AI analyzed situation correctly and injected me with small dose of painkiller. Galtieri sat on the chair nearby and monitored the readings on his tablets while looking at my shaking body from time to time.

When Galtieri noticed that data transfer was complete he sighed and approached me. He helped me get up, as my hands and knees were shaking too much for me to do it on my own. He took off my helmet and passed me a bottle of water, which I drank greedily. Galtieri watched me with unreadable expression and said.

"Once again I apologize, Officer Cadet. If there was any other way…"

I interrupted him quickly.

"I can handle that!" I stopped mid-sentence and reflected on the fact that I just shouted at my senior officer. "Uhm… sorry about that, sir."

Instead of getting mad for my slip, Galtieri just chuckled at my embarrassing expression.

"You have some guts, Dubois, I'll give you that. But sometimes even guts are not enough. You'll do well if you remember that."

I stood at attention again, which was somewhat difficult given I was still wearing my full armor. Despite its lightweight designation Interceptor was still bulky and performing drill in it was a formidable challenge.

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!"

Galtieri waved at the plasteel container and said.

"Okay, get it together and follow me. Take the package with you. We will place your equipment in the lockers with the Duty Platoon, so we could have easy access to it. Unlike other recruits, you will be required to train with it every day."

"Yes sir!" I acknowledged and turned on my wrist-comp. Despite me wearing armor it appeared over my forearm just like omni-tools did in Mass Effect. Thanks to my newest data transfer I learned how to use a few more useful things in the wrist-comp even if I paid for it with horrible pain and a headache. I turned on correct app, which activated anti-grav suspension in the plasteel crate, which was elevated about a half meter high. I programmed it to follow the indicator in my wrist-comp and we left the armory, container trailing behind us like an obedient dog.

* * *

After checking my equipment out with the guards and filling in necessary paperwork we dropped by the officer on duty, who signed off on my equipment and placed it in a separate locker with the Duty Platoon. He passed locker access to my wrist-comp, so I could pick up my stuff at leisure from now on. I also left my armor there and changed back to my fatigues. As per Captain Galtieri's orders I went to Major Sharpe's office. Once again, the indispensable Pathfinder app proved its usefulness.

As I entered, the office door opened for me automatically. I stood at attention and saluted. Sharpe looked up from his tablet, got up and returned the salute. He indicated chair in front of his desk and said.

"Have a seat, Officer Cadet."

I sat in the chair and waited for Sharpe to finish his work. With his serious expression and in his gray garrison fatigues he didn't look like Draco Malfoy so much. His office, just like all the others in the building, also subscribed to minimalistic school of interior design. He had one of the sad-looking potted plants that seemed ubiquitous here, one desk with elegant leather armchair and two metal and plastic chairs in front of the desk for supplicants. There were simple yet stylish steel bookcases but not surprisingly there were no books on them, only few binders with holographic markers. The desk was similarly impersonal and looked just like any other: tablet, holographic display, headset and a small Confederacy flag, which stuck out like a sore thumb in this empty space.

The only thing that indicated that this room belonged to Sharpe was a nice and stylish wooden frame with photographs that switched every few seconds. On each of the photos you could see a very pretty black girl, sometimes solo, sometimes with Sharpe. It was unreal to see the severe Security Branch officer as carefree as he was on these pictures.

Major Sharpe noticed me staring and said, pointing at the wooden frame.

"This is my wife, Samantha. This picture was taken in our summer house in Freetown, Main Sub-verse 'Promised Land'."

"She is very pretty, sir." I said truthfully.

"That she is." Sharpe acknowledged curtly. "I keep this picture here to remind myself sometimes what we are fighting here for. Repeating Constitution verbatim and using words like 'country or 'flag' is all nice and well for propaganda broadcast. But it's our families who are the living and breathing reminders of what the word 'people' in the Constitution stands for, Officer Cadet Dubois."

He stood up from the desk and took a step toward one of the bookcases. He turned back to me and said.

"Everything I do, no matter how ruthless or heartless it might seem, is always for the good of Confederacy and the Multiverse." I looked up at Sharpe and his eyes were cold.

"I give assassination orders, Cadet Dubois. As External Affairs Bureau we can arrange a coup d'état in any given universe at any given time if it suits our needs. Should we decide it necessary, we could engineer a full-out war between your Poland and Belarus just like that," he snapped his fingers.

I felt chills in my bones. Sharpe didn't change his tone for a second, but his offhand comment sounded more dangerous than even the most imaginative threats. It came with such calm assurance, that I immediately believed him.

Sharpe must have noticed my reaction as he raised his hands in a placating manner.

"That was a very bad example, Officer Cadet Dubois." He admitted. "But it gives you the idea not only of the scope of our abilities in Security Branch, but also of the great amount of responsibility that we have. Imagine what would happen if someone mentally unsound was given access to Security Branch resources?"

I wasn't sure whether Sharpe wanted me to answer that question, but apparently it was a rhetoric one as he kept talking.

"For that reason screening potential field agents is vital to External Affairs Bureau. While not desired, we can afford to have few bad apples in Confederacy proper. We can weed them out easily enough. That is not so for our intelligence networks in the 'verses that are beyond our borders."

"I understand sir. What is the goal of my mission and where will I go?"

Major Sharpe typed something on his wrist-comp and I heard message arrive on my tablet. Our uniform actually had a special magnetic pocket, where I could keep it. I took out my Interius, checked out the message from Sharpe and opened up the attached file.

I scanned its contents quickly and looked up at serious-looking Sharpe. I asked him.

"Sub-verse F-Out number 524, colloquial designation: 'Mass Effect Universe'. Do you mean Mass Effect as in video game, sir?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Correct, Cadet Dubois." He replied curtly

"And my task is to 'establish information and espionage network'." I shook my head at that. "I am honored by your trust sir, but that is not something I can accomplish alone, no matter how much training I have."

Sharpe sat down in his armchair and waved his wrist-comp above the desk. A large holographic image appeared. To my surprise, it turned out to be a large map of the Milky Way galaxy, similar to one in the Normandy. Major Sharpe activated my wrist-comp remotely and run 3D-Map app. It allowed me to zoom in and out in the holographic display. I played with the map a little and noticed that it showed exact deployment of space fleets of all galaxy races. The Turian fleet was clearly the largest, followed by Salarian and Asari fleets. The Systems Alliance had fourth largest fleet with Batarians close by. Hanar, Elcor and Volus fleets were comparatively small. The map even showed the disposition of STG teams and Cerberus bases as well as hidden Prothean facilities like Ilos. All major galactic powers were also represented by constantly changing graphs, different colors and dozens of other indicators. I looked at Sharpe with wide eyes and said.

"That's… very impressive, sir." They had access to most guarded secrets of the Mass Effect universe. Say what you want about External Affairs Bureau, but they were nothing if thorough. I preferred not to think how this information was obtained.

Major Sharpe nodded at that and he used his wrist-comp to move the galaxy map to its very borders. We went beyond the scope of the map and suddenly we noticed large area, drowning in a sea of red dots. For the second time this day I felt fear creeping up on me, for I immediately knew what these dots meant.

"The Reapers…" I whispered. Sharpe zoomed in on one of the dots. Zooming scroll went all the way up and the map showed us a single Reaper. It was in deep slumber, as they all were between their murdering cycles, but it still was an imposing sight. I almost chuckled when I noticed map casually marking the reaper with a small yellow box:  
_id: Harbinger  
type: Reaper  
subtype: Leviathan-made  
age: unknown, speculated hundreds of millions of standard . years  
desc.: sentient synthetic-organic hybrid, starship capable of FTL travel, tasked with preservation of genetic material of advanced life and eradication of said life in Milky Way Galaxy, Sub-verse F-Out no. 524 a.k.a. 'Mass Effect Universe'; Harbinger in its capacity as Reaper representative, was approached by agents of Multiverse Confederacy with the proposition of the alliance. Proposition was refused as it went beyond the initial programming of the Reapers, but the agreement of non-belligerence between Reapers and Multiverse Confederacy was reached._

"An agreement of non-belligerence…" I turned to Major Sharpe. I was pretty sure that my jaw at the moment reached the floor. "You've negotiated with the Reapers?!" I asked shocked.

Major Sharpe corrected me sarcastically.

"I think you meant: 'you've negotiated with the Reapers, SIR', Officer Cadet Dubois." I stammered at that.

"Uhm, yes sir. Sorry sir." I was still new to military discipline, but two slips were definitely enough for today.

"To answer your question – yes, we have negotiated with the Reapers. Nobody here liked the idea, but let's face it: they are the largest military force in this galaxy. We could not afford to ignore them."

I still had my doubts. Although I had to admit that it put a funny image in my head of Harbinger sitting at the negotiating table with Confederacy diplomats, sipping tea and munching on biscuits while discussing finer points of the non-belligerence treaty.

"I suppose sir, but…" I just shook my head. "They are the Reapers, sir. They've been committing genocides for millennia and they have no wish to stop any time soon. That thing with Shepard and The Crucible in Mass Effect Trilogy was a giant fluke. Do we really want to risk non-interference with Reapers on the loose? What about all those people, sir? There are billions, if not trillions of beings in this galaxy."

Major Sharpe looked me in the eye again. He rested his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on folded hands.

"I have a question for you, Dubois." He asked. "Do you really care what happens to these people? You've never met any of them and until a few days ago they were nothing more than video game characters to you. What does it matter how many of them die?" He pressed on, "Hell, why would it matter if they all died? Think logically about it – the Reapers would be more powerful allies than all races of the Mass Effect galaxy combined. And furthermore officer cadet, think of the scale on which we operate. Trillions of sentient lifeforms exist in Sub-verse F-Out number 524, but in the Confederacy, there exist a hundred times that number. Which takes precedence to receive resources and funding? The external, or the internal?"

I had to agree with that, but it was cold and heartless logic.

"Yes sir. You're right; I don't emotionally care about the people of this Galaxy. They aren't my people – they are just characters in a video game that I used to play."

I looked again at the galaxy map. Turian and Alliance fleets were moving about. Alliance also gathered some of their vessels on the Skyllian Verge, monitoring their Batarian counterparts. The Galaxy looked like a dangerous place with pirates, slavers and whatnot, but at the same time it was thriving with life. Mass Effect 3, no matter how hard you tried in the game, left the galaxy a giant graveyard with survivors fighting for their lives. I looked back at Major Sharpe and said.

"At the same time, I'm not comfortable with the idea of sacrificing so many of them, sir. You've said it yourself before – External Affairs Bureau of the Security Branch works for the betterment of the Multiverse. We are the good guys, who sometimes do bad things. But letting all those people die for the sake of political convenience is not choosing the lesser evil. It's going against everything we set out to do. There is no excuse, sir. We can't compromise on that."

Sharpe relaxed back into his armchair with an approving expression. I think it was the first time I saw him smiling a really genuine smile. He said to me.

"That is absolutely correct, Officer Cadet Dubois. Now I am certain that Consciousness Acquisition department made the right decision, when they chose you for Security Branch. You're right, death toll that Reapers cause in the Mass Effect Universe is absolutely unacceptable for the Confederacy. We don't expect you to stop the war, but thanks to the espionage network you will establish we will be able to reduce casualties to a reasonable level."

"Reasonable level, sir?"

He smiled again, but this time there was none of his previous mirth.

"Keep the casualties at the level which will not inconvenience the Confederacy's voters. Our people don't like tyrants, genocides and murderous ideologies, but they like even less sending our soldiers to fight someone else's war."

At first I was really disappointed. Here they were, Multiverse Confederacy – cosmic equivalent of the boys with the biggest sticks on the schoolyard. They could clean up death squads, space Nazis and even Reapers from the multiverse with a snap of their fingers. The problem was that none of them could be bothered, until the bodies started to pile up in uncomfortable numbers. Most people here were completely fine with sitting at home and watching holo-vids on the news about yet another monstrous horror that battered a galaxy in some 'verse or the other. At best they'd say: 'Yeah honey, that's terrible and quite shocking, indeed. Could you please pass the butter?' At worst they would ignore it completely, because who cares – if it doesn't directly affect me it's someone else's problem.

On the other hand – had we on Earth been any different? I remembered reading about Rwandan Genocide and Yugoslavian Wars and the world's reactions that varied between complete indifference and ineffectual military interventions. People had their lives and they were quite happy with them – they didn't want or need to see the ugliness of war and the suffering of the innocent. I couldn't put the blame on people of Confederacy when the exact same thing happened back home.

I looked back to Major Sharpe who watched me intently. From what he told me I could make an educated guess that he wasn't happy with that fact. I only knew him for a short time, but he made an impression of a man who genuinely wants to do the right thing.

"I understand, sir." I said, silently acknowledging the sad state of affairs. "I will do my best to prevent the worst from happening."

"I know you will, Dubois. That is why you were chosen to lead this mission. We will teach you everything you need to know, but in the end you will be the one to make a decision. You can't protect everyone in the Mass Effect galaxy, but you can help them to the best of your abilities."

"Yes sir!"

"That will be all, Officer Cadet. Dismissed." he stood up and I followed suit. I saluted as was customary after dismissal by superior officer and left Sharpe's office.

END OF CHAPTER 2

* * *

(1) This dialogue is a nearly direct quote of a conversation between Sir Christopher Lee, OBE and one of the journalists who interviewed him. Sir Christopher Lee served in RAF during World War 2 and after allied invasion of Italy he was attached to Special Operations Executive and the Long Range Desert Patrol, which was a precursor of the famed British SAS. Lee would never go into details of his military service at the time as he was 'forbidden to discuss any specific operations'.

When Peter Jackson was shooting 'Lord Of The Rings - Return Of The King' he had on scene in mind of Saruman being stabbed in the back by his servant - Grima Wormtongue. He wanted Sir Christopher Lee (who played Saruman the White) to scream in pain. Sir Christopher Lee then asked the director 'Peter, have you ever heard the sound a man makes when he's stabbed in the back?'. At Jackson's negative answer Sir Christopher Lee said: 'Well I have, and I know what to do' and then went into a great detail explaining, that when a person is stabbed in the back of the chest they do not scream as in fact the air is pushed out of their lungs and they simply 'groan' with an exhalation of air, very quietly as their lungs have been punctured.

Just when you thought that a man who played Saruman, Scaramanga and Dracula (last one multiple times) couldn't get any more badass. He was also the cousin of Ian Fleming (author of the James Bond books), the only man of the LotR cast to have met J.R.R. Tolkien in person and a musician who released his first heavy metal album at the age of 80. Yes, this is the moment to have a total nerdgasm and cry Manly Tears of joy. ;)

**A/N: I just couldn't resist adding that last factual tidbit and that dialogue line in the story, as it was just too good to pass. I have a great respect for Sir Christopher Lee for his service in WW2 and his impressive acting career. If I could, I'd nominate him for Badass Of The Week. Forget Shepard, Christopher Lee is the Man!**


	5. Chapter 3 - Meeting The Mafia, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though. I'd love to say that I own Confederacy as well, but they seem to kidnap and brainwash people who make such ridiculous claim.

**A/N: Here is the Chapter 3 of Multiverse Effect. It is pushing strongly toward 6k words, but unfortunately there was nothing I could do about it.**

**EDIT: I will be going on holiday next Saturday and I won't be home until at least a week later - possibly two weeks. I will update the first part of the Chapter 3 today, but the second part will be slower in coming, so whoever reads it - please be patient.**

**As for the chapter itself - The SI is finally acclimatizing in the base. I know that so far it is fairly slow-paced, but I want to give poor Dubois some time to find his bearings. If you have any suggestions or feedback, do not hesitate to leave a review.**

**It is betaed by the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Meeting The Mafia**

_A sword never kills anybody; it is a tool in the killer's hand_

_Seneca_

* * *

After meeting Major Sharpe I was left to my own devices for a time. I wandered around the compound learning its layout as such knowledge could come in handy in the future. By then, I've abandoned all thoughts of escaping the Security Branch and Confederacy. I still wasn't going to bend over and agree to everything they demanded, but I had to admit grudgingly that I literally had nowhere else to go. I was alone and in an unfamiliar place and so far learning what I could from the Security Branch could help me the most in the long run. So, I've been using my wrist-comp to read a little on the Camp Bravo Two curriculum and I admit I was very impressed with it.

I've always considered myself a pragmatist and I agreed with the motto of Special Forces back on Earth: 'if you find yourself in a fair fight, your tactics suck'. When you are in a life and death situation giving your enemy a sporting chance is the worst possible decision and it seemed like Security Branch took similar approach. External Affairs Bureau agents didn't learn how to play fair, but to deliver results. Blackmail, extortion, bribes and even emotional manipulation were not only allowed but strongly encouraged. Agents were told to use all tools at their disposal to achieve their goals, even if such means were considered crude, incorrect or even criminal in a civilized society. It seems like Gillespie and Vassilevskiy were right when they described External Affairs Bureau as the ugly underbelly of the Security Branch. If there was ever a need for intervention by the Confederacy Armed Forces in a particular universe, External Affairs field agents were expected to have completely crippled enemy war effort by then in order to minimize friendly casualties. What made Security Branch agents different from Council Spectres in Mass Effect universe was the fact that they were held accountable for their decisions. Field agents were expected to report to their superiors and usage of more extreme measures (such as blackmailing an important politician or using physical force during interrogation) had to be agreed upon by the Security Branch ranking officers. Even with careful screenings of potential agents it wasn't foolproof in cases of misuse or abuse of power, but clearly steps have been taken to prevent the worst from happening. Such a system was far from perfect, but it was still much better than giving agents the freedom to roam around the multiverse with no supervision whatsoever like the Citadel Council did.

Sometime later, I found a message on my wrist-comp from Galtieri requesting that I meet him in the Duty Platoon locker room. When I arrived we wasted no time in putting on our armors (I still required his guidance, but it took me less time) and taking the weapons with us. We then swiftly jogged to the firing range, where Captain Galtieri wanted me to familiarize myself with provided firearms.

Weapons that were standard issue for Security Branch field agents consisted of a sidearm and a PDW for close quarters. There was also a carbine that could be easily converted into an assault rifle or Designated Marksman Rifle by switching the barrels, magazines and adding or removing the attachments. All weapons worked on the plasma-coil gun principle: they fired by using electromagnets to accelerate the projectiles, while heating them up at the same time. Projectiles were made from durable metals that could be heated to high temperatures without losing their consistency. These weapons were both very powerful and extremely dangerous due to high speeds and the temperatures that the projectiles could achieve. Data transfer made me aware that Confederacy dabbled with Mass Effect weaponry some time ago, but decided against issuing them to their soldiers. The tests concluded that high-caliber, superheated projectiles are much more devastating than the shaving beads that Mass Effect guns utilized. Mass Effect weapons were not bad per se but as they were mostly cannibalized or reverse-engineered from Prothean tech they had limits which could not be exceeded even with Confederacy's technological edge. These drawbacks outweighed their potential benefits, like virtually unlimited ammunition. Unlimited shaving beads will do you no good if your rifle can't even chip the paint off enemy's armor with them.

Galtieri presented me these firearms, showed me how to field-strip them and advised me about their quirks and problems that I might encounter. I received a quick data transfer through my wrist-comp to retain that knowledge and without further ceremony I was told to shoot at presented targets.

The practical part of the firearms training revealed severe limitations in data transfer technology. My brain held memories of Captain Galtieri's missions as well as information package on the weaponry, but my body was not used to it, as muscle memory still wasn't there. When I tried quickly switching between the targets the barrel was swimming left and right as my body tried to adjust. I actually overextended my hand when I tried switching between the carbine on a tactical sling and my pistol that was attached to my hip. Galtieri saw my struggle, but he explained patiently.

"This is the reason why we have three months for training. You can't learn everything through data transfer – some of the habits will come to you in time."

I could already see that it will be a long learning process, but I feared something else.

"What is going to happen when I transfer to my final body, sir? Will I have to re-learn it again?"

Captain Galtieri waved away my concerns.

"You will have an exact copy of your current body, minus all the drawbacks that we discover during the training period. Don't concern yourself with that, Dubois."

All in all it was a very productive couple of hours. I also discovered that despite his laid-back attitude in the morning Galtieri was a slave driver and he definitely reminded me of his serious self from yesterday. We constantly practice safety drills with weapons. I was expected to field-strip all of my firearms and put them back together quickly – Galtieri measured the time with his wrist-comp. No matter how hard I tried and how many shots I have taken he was always urging me to do better. It wasn't pleasant, but I could clearly see merit in his approach. I have also noticed a visible improvement in my performance after we finished our drills.

When we were done Galtieri ordered me to clean up the weaponry and take it back to the Duty Platoon lockers. There once again we had to put our weapons back in their respective locker rooms, while I also had to make sure that my plasteel crate remained closed and sealed off as per regulations. We also went to officer on duty's cubicle to fill in the forms. When we signed our equipment off, Galtieri forwarded me my lesson and exercise plan for the next week. I skimmed through it quickly and said.

"One question, sir?" After the Captain nodded at me in consent I continued. "When do I get to sleep, sir?"

Galtieri snorted at me derisively and said.

"Sleep is overrated, Dubois. Now, get out of here!"

I saluted crisply and left the Duty Platoon lockers.

After leaving Captain Galtieri I quickly went to my room to refresh. I spoke with Lox a little bit and he informed me that he will be my teacher for some of my classes, including cryptography, interrogation techniques and basics of the IT. To my quick relief Lox also said he won't be telling anyone that I figured out that I was going to be sent to Mass Effect 'verse before officially being informed about it. He also said one memorable thing.

"You are intelligent, for an organic being. But you still lack the experience that will make you truly wise."

It sounded so out of this world, especially due to the fact that it was said by an artificial intelligence of all things that I couldn't help but laugh.

"Gee, thanks Master Yoda. What other words of insight do you have to impart?"

"May the Force be with you, Officer Cadet Dubois."

The last sentence he delivered in a deadpan tone, but I could detect hints of amusement. It seemed like I will have to reevaluate my theory on AIs not having sense of humor. I left my room soon after and went back to the main building for a dinner as it turns out that Galtieri and I skipped lunch altogether.

This time around barely anyone paid attention to me and dinner itself seemed to be a more relaxed affair. As it turns out I was expected to sit at the officers table once again, but this time it was empty apart from the attractive blonde colonel from this morning. She waved at me and asked me to sit with her. Due to my faux-pas with her during breakfast I would have preferred to sit by myself, but refusing my superior would be nothing more than discourteous snub so I took a seat next to her.

She wasted no time and introduced herself to me.

"My name is Colonel Patricia van Koolwijk. I teach Tactical Infiltration Course as well as Munitions and Explosives Training."

We shook hands and I said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. My name is Officer Cadet Peter Dubois, ah-artificially created citizen." I stammered a little. It still felt weird to introduce myself like that. "After my training is finished I will be attached to 3rd Battalion, 213th Infiltration Brigade" I added, remembering Galtieri's data transfer. "I believe I will have a few classes with you, ma'am."

She nodded at that.

"You will indeed, Dubois. Unfortunately, due to time constraints I doubt you will become a proficient pioneer or military engineer. It's a shame really – I'd love to have you working under me."

Surely she didn't mean…? Yep, she meant exactly that – her mischievous smile said it all. It seemed like I wasn't completely off the hook for my staring at her during breakfast.

I quickly looked around to make sure that nobody was listening to our conversation and said quietly.

"I'd like to apologize, Colonel for my behavior this morning. It was completely inappropriate and I have no excuse, ma'am."

She smiled and said, "Don't worry about it, Dubois. It was quite refreshing, actually. All the people in the Bureau go out of their way to say 'you're a field agent first, woman second' while still staring at your ass when you're not looking. It was nice to see someone do it so openly."

"I would never stare at your backside, ma'am."

Her tone turned frosty and she eyed me coldly.

"Are you calling my backside unattractive, Officer Cadet?"

Any man can recognize that dangerous tone. This is the moment when you have to retract your previous statement very quickly.

"Not at all, ma'am." I answered, desperately trying to find something else to say. I stopped however when I noticed her mischievous smile again. It seemed like she enjoyed playing this teasing game with me. I wondered whether that's the way she spoke with all the other recruits. "And how would you know that if you've never looked Officer Cadet?"

To my immense relief, Colonel van Koolwijk decided to not to pursue that question and asked me with a serious expression, "This planet that you're coming from is Earth, but not like ours?" she checked her wrist-comp. "Right, it's also Earth, but it had developed differently."

I looked up from my meal surprised.

"Are you from Earth as well, ma'am?"

"Well, not me as I was born in the colonies. But all Multiverse Confederacy civilizations originally came from Earth. What would be the odds of humanity developing on a different planet?"

"Well if you put it that way, ma'am…" I remained unconvinced, but Colonel was still talking.

"Anyway, is it true that it's customary to slap a female on her backside to signal that she's done a good job, for example at the workplace? Does it also work the other way around with females slapping males?"

At first I thought she was joking. The question she asked was so ridiculous that I couldn't believe she was serious. But when I looked her in the eyes, all I saw that was polite curiosity. She honestly believed that we behaved like this?! I responded quickly, hoping to clarify the misunderstanding.

"No ma'am, you are mistaken. Such behavior, either from males or females, could be considered sexual harassment and it would be penalized by social ostracism. There are many different cultures on Earth, but in general we are expected to treat other people with respect."

She nodded at that and noted something down on her wrist-comp. She looked at me apologetically.

"I did not mean to offend you, Dubois but I'm simply curious. Usually primitive cultures, such as yours tend to be very overt in their displays of sexuality so I assumed that it would be the case. I don't know much about your Earth, I'm afraid."

Primitive cultures? Okay, we may not have super-special, multiverse-hopping stargates or dimension-bending starships, but we were not bloody cavemen either. We were the culture, who gave birth to great philosophers like Confucius or Aristotle, inventors like Tesla and entrepreneurs like Elon Musk. We had our industrial revolution and age of enlightenment and reason, so we certainly were NOT some backwards, primitive society. Of course, she couldn't have known that. To her we might as well be talking monkeys with baseball caps and assault rifles.

"No offence taken, Colonel. I understand that we might seem rather underdeveloped as we barely explored our own Solar system. Still, we are diverse, resourceful and inventive. We also discovered joys of science-fiction so as you can see I'm not too overwhelmed by your technology. In fact, I expected something more, well… ultra-modern. I am sort of disappointed that everything you have here is similar to my Earth, except bigger and better."

She smiled at that.

"Why fix something that is not broken, Cadet Dubois? Some things always stay the same. We are still working on new technologies and inventions, but now that we have consciousness transfer and multiverse hopping we can take our time with implementing new tech."

"Speaking of multiverse, can you explain something to me, ma'am?"

She gestured at me to go ahead.

"I am confused on how dimension travelling actually works. Could you, for example, go to a universe where your Multiverse Confederacy is like an evil empire? What would you do then?"

She pondered the idea for a moment and answered.

"There are certain rules to multiverse hopping. I'm not a physicist, but as far as I'm aware it is nearly impossible to travel to very similar universes, freak accidents aside. I remember from school something about the law of inverse energy conservation, but I might be completely wrong on that. When you talk to your Consciousness Transfer team again, you can ask them about it. Eggheads have better understanding on how the dimensional travel is conducted. We are spies – we only need to know how to infiltrate and bring down nations we meet on the other side of the wormhole." I smiled at that.

Van Koolwijk after a moment of silence added.

"Although fighting evil Confederacy would be quite a challenge. We are not lambs, especially here in Security Branch, and we know that sometimes gloves have to come off. But fighting a nation that would be equally powerful and much more ruthless? I hope it doesn't happen on my watch."

She shook her head and changed the topic.

"I can't believe how lucky you are, Dubois. Your first day in the mafia and it's Friday. You should join us in the officer's lounge for a drink or two."

"I'm not sure about it ma'am. I'm not an officer and besides I doubt that Captain Galtieri would let me skip training tomorrow."

She giggled at that. It seemed really strange to see this serious looking officer giggle, but then again it WAS Friday evening. Even most dedicated people need to unwind sometimes.

"Don't worry, Officer Cadet. Major Sharpe and Captain Galtieri are friends of mine. We served together back in the Confederate Army. Because I transferred to the Security Branch first I get to boss them around now." She smiled at me wickedly. "Besides, we want to train you to be one of us – it won't do if you have a nervous breakdown because you were overworked."

I remained unconvinced.

"Perhaps it would be better if I retire early, ma'am."

"Nonsense. Join us in the lounge, Dubois. That's an order." She added with mock-seriousness.

Seeing as the decision was out of my hands I conceded.

"Yes, ma'am. At once."

* * *

I was told by Colonel van Koolwijk that the officer's lounge was an elegant establishment away from the base itself and we were expected to wear our black dress uniforms. She also passed me a quick data package on proper conduct, for which I was immensely grateful, even if it still hurt like crazy. I didn't really know the traditions of the Security Branch or the Confederate Armed Forces. Would they be more egalitarian and inclusive like the Americans? Or perhaps elitist and aloof like the old British army? I prayed they would not turn out to be the Prussian army with their sabre duels, aristocratic traditions and all that _junker_ jazz, since they already had the uniform part done to a boot. Thankfully, the savoir-vivre package would help me out in this and at least I won't mortally offend anyone with the wrong word said at the wrong time.

Back in the barracks I had a shower and a quick shave and then tried to put on my dress uniform. Gestapo style or not, dress blacks were sharp looking and my jackboots (or rather Dress Boots, Leather, High Type) were shining with shoe polish. It all looked very professional, but then again I had no idea how to wear it properly. Thankfully, helpful Lox actually came to my room in his android chassis to help me out.

Interestingly, his chassis kind of reminded me of Terminator T-800, albeit with more armor plates here and there. As it turned out, Lox was well acquainted with the Terminator films from Earth and he even did Arnold Schwarzenegger's impersonation at my request. Believe me: hearing 'Come with me if you want to live' with Brad Fiedel's Terminator Theme in the background from a real android not two feet away from you is just as cool as it sounds.

Lox helped me with putting on my outfit and instructed me in the little details that make a difference in the proper arrangement of the Dress Uniform. And not surprisingly, part of the officer's dress uniform was a black peaked cap, which did not help the Nazi look at all, but I guess I should have expected that. Soon after, Lox declared me ready to go, so I put on my dress headgear, activated my wrist-comp and set the Pathfinder app.

Outside of my barrack I met Colonel van Koolwijk and she led me to the launching pad. Her uniform was very similar to mine, except that females wore a black skirt and different headgear with their dress blacks. Their caps looked like rigid black berets with silver insignia and as for their uniform skirts… well – let's just say that if the Colonel's uniform was anything to go by, the hem of a military skirt raised that high would be considered very improper in any Earth military. She also wore high heels, which I was certain were not military issue with their fine embroideries. All in all, Colonel van Koolwijk looked positively stunning, but I've managed not to stare too much when I followed her.

There was one of the military shuttles on the landing pad and it was manned by Security Branch personnel. We entered the shuttle, strapped in and Colonel asked the pilot to take us to the city.

We took a scenic route on the way there and I finally had the chance to look at the planet we were on. On the way to the base yesterday, I was too overwhelmed to actually pay attention to where we were going and it turns out that it was a very beautiful world, if a bit empty-looking. When I mentioned the emptiness of the land, I was told by one of the pilots that infrastructure on this planet was mostly built in support of the Interactive Dislocation Department facilities, along with numerous military bases. Only our Camp Bravo Two belonged to Security Branch, while the rest fell under the jurisdiction of Confederate Armed Forces.

I noticed that Colonel van Koolwijk stiffened when she heard the pilot mention the military bases and asked him to stop talking, citing Official Secrets Act. It seemed like Confederacy had facilities here that they didn't want the general population (or at least me) to know about. I admit to being slightly curious, but I decided to ignore it. The truth is that learning some government secrets is not worth the trouble they bring down on your head and I didn't care about what Confederacy was doing one way or the other, unless it affected me directly.

When I was looking out of the window, seeing all the forests and grasslands below I was reminded of Poland and I felt another wave of longing. It felt like that fall a year ago, when my best friend died in a motorcycle accident – intellectually I was well aware that he was gone, but emotionally I still didn't feel the loss. It just seemed for a month or so that we just didn't have time to meet with our busy schedules, but as the days went by I understood that there will no 'catch you later' for us. Now this feeling was back as it just felt so unbelievable that I won't be seeing my family and my girlfriend ever again, that my brain still treated being here as some unannounced holiday.

But there was no going back, Dr. Anneke Koeckritz clearly said so. And because I was just a copy of my real self, there literally was no place for me to go back to. I guess I should just be happy with what I've got – after all I was going to embark on a life of adventure, become a trained operator, visit the Mass Effect universe and earn metric ton of money while doing so. I dreamed of all these things before. Then why did it feel so empty all of a sudden?

Colonel van Koolwijk noticed my change of mood and asked about it.

"It's alright ma'am. Just a little bit homesick. It happens to the best of us." I answered with a smile that didn't really reach my eyes. She didn't comment further.

The rest of the trip was spent in uncomfortable silence. Our pilot was still smarting from the Colonel's comment while his co-pilot was busy fixing navigation charts on his holo-tablet. I was still reminiscing about my life back on Earth and van Koolwijk put on a headset and was listening to some music.

After half an hour or so, we reached the city. It was called Port Helix and was considered a small city – after all it had a population of only about 3 million inhabitants. That was a small city by Confederacy standards, but I felt like a fish out of water there. I've been living in a large city my whole life, but when we landed in Port Helix I felt like a stereotypical country boy. Turns out, it was the same city that I saw from the terrace back in IDD compound and up close it looked even more intimidating. It was filled with gravity-defying skyscrapers and massive arcologies. It was surprisingly clean as well and I could see lot of green patches in form of parks and hanging gardens. Before I could take a closer look though, the pilot swiftly took down the shuttle into one of the designated landing pads. As soon as we landed, the hangar ceiling closed above us – Security Branch seemed rather paranoid when it came to security measures, but they were spies after all. From the landing pad we took a short walk to a small military facility that housed among other things the Officer's Lounge.

I admit I wasn't so sure what to expect when I entered the lounge, but I certainly did not expect that. It had none of the minimalistic and futuristic design that was prevalent back in the base. The lounge was elegant, and opulent, but it had certain old school vibe with wooden floors, rich carpets and paneling on the walls. Most of the furniture consisted of small wooden coffee tables with large and comfortable leather armchairs. At the far end I noticed a bar with draft beer taps and a battery of liquor bottles. Behind the bar there were two real, living bartenders, a man and a woman, in elegant white shirts with bowties and black vests. Woman was filling the glass mugs with the beer from the tap, while the man was making a cocktail. Both of them moved with swiftness and self-assurance of experienced bar staff. When I looked at them, the male bartender threw three bottles in the air, caught each of them independently between his fingers and poured from each bottle a shot of liquor. I knew a few bartenders in my life and I was pretty sure that what he just did was physically impossible.

Colonel van Koolwijk looked at my awed expression with a smile and said.

"So Dubois, how do you find our Lounge, so far?"

I looked at her with grateful eyes.

"I'm glad you convinced me to come, ma'am. I think I will like it a lot."

She patted my arm and said.

"When we are off-duty, please call me Patricia. When you call me ma'am in a place like this it makes me feel old." She said, while looking around the room, searching for her acquaintances.

"Then I must insist that you call me Peter. And calling you ma'am was a sign of respect. No man in his right mind would think of you as old, Patricia."

She laughed at that and shook her head.

"Aren't you a charmer, Peter? It is a pity that you don't work under me. Perhaps when your assignment is over we could work something out?" She said with a wink as she licked her lips.

I should have known that I won't be winning any verbal spars against this woman. But I was more concerned at her rather overt flirting. It wouldn't be a problem if we were civilians, but we were in the military. There is a very good reason why armies have non-fraternization policies in place. In fact, that is what always bugged me in Normandy during Mass Effect 1. Shepard is still a highly trained and decorated career officer in Systems Alliance Navy and military regulations still apply. All that said, he or she has no qualms into turning Normandy into a love boat by shamelessly flirting with either the XO (if female), the Gunnery Chief (if male) or the stray Asari scientist picked up on the way (if both). In Mass Effect 2 and 3 it's not so jarring, as in former the Normandy belongs to a terrorist group and in latter the Galaxy has bigger problems than Shepard taking crewmembers for a horizontal tango.

All pairings in Mass Effect series notwithstanding, sexual relationship between a superior officer and his or her subordinate is improper because 1) it might bring forward accusations of favoritism and 2) it might impact negatively on the unit cohesion in combat. Looking from this perspective, van Koolwijk's behavior was even stranger, seeing as we were both in uniform.

Unfortunately, Colonel van Koolwijk (or should I say – Patricia?) gave me no time to ponder as she hooked her arm with mine and led me through the lounge toward one of the coffee tables. I noticed two other female officers sitting there nursing their cocktails. I thought I recognized them from the breakfast in the morning, but I couldn't be sure. When we approached the table both of them smiled at Patricia and greeted her warmly. She let go of my arm and introduced both women to me.

"Peter, may I introduce you to Captain Catherine Miles." A short and slim redhead smiled at me with a slight wave. She looked to be slightly younger than Patricia. "And Captain Lucy Shi-Lee." A tall and attractive Asian woman gave me a firm nod and a not-so-obvious once-over. "Peter is our newest addition to the firm." She added with a smile and continued with the introduction.

"Lucy and I served together as an infiltration team during one of our assignments. I met Catherine when I started teaching the Explosives Course in the 5th Security Branch Academy. All of us were transferred few months ago to Camp Bravo Two to help with the formation of the newly established 213th Infiltration Brigade. Lucy is helping me with the Infiltration Courses for new recruits. Catherine, what is it exactly that you do?"

The redhead Captain Miles added with a pleasant smile, "I am establishing a Signals and Counter-Intelligence company that will be attached to our brigade." She tilted her head inquisitively and asked. "And who are you?"

I clicked my heels and stood at attention.

"Officer Cadet Peter Dubois, 3rd Battalion, 213th Infiltration Brigade, ma'am. I am also an artificially created citizen, originally hailing from a less advanced planet Earth."

'Well, my introduction is starting to sound like a mouthful and a half' I thought sarcastically. Since when was a simple 'Hi, I'm Peter' not good enough for an introduction? Oh yeah – since my brain was copy-pasted into a newer and better body by an over-bureaucratized, universe hopping, America-on-steroids IN SPACE. How could I ever forget?

Oblivious to my internal monologue, both women acknowledged my introduction with nods. I took a look at their uniforms and it appears that short skirts were a rule rather than an exception.

Captain Shi-Lee's eyes brightened at my introduction.

"Oh yes, I remember you now. You serve under Sharpe and Galtieri, don't you? I heard you came from this primitive Earth where you slap people on their bottoms as a sign of appreciation?" If I had to guess, her accent sounded slightly British.

Seriously, where was this retarded idea coming from and who the hell was spreading it around? Again, it was up to me to debunk the myth, so I said firmly while sitting down.

"Yes ma'am. Unfortunately I have to correct you on your last statement. We most certainly do not slap anyone to appreciate their work. In fact, we don't slap anyone for any reason, period."

I sat at the coffee table and used my wrist-comp to place an order. I opted for some low-alcoholic cocktail since getting drunk on beer or whisky wouldn't do in present company. Colonel van Koolwijk and Captain Miles were already engaged in conversation on some obscure technical topic, while Captain Shi-Lee said with a smile, "I apologize. It was just this rumor going around the base about you. In retrospect seems rather unlikely."

"No apologies needed, ma'am. I am well aware that I am somewhat of a mystery."

"Please call me Lucy, Peter." she gestured around the room "We are all off-duty here."

"Well, Lucy….you wouldn't happen to know who this rumor originated from, would you?"

She just laughed and reclined in the armchair.

I followed her example and relaxed. We discussed few mundane topics. I still felt that a gentlemanly thing to do would be to keep the ladies amused (an outdated notion, I know), so I kept the conversation afloat, while taking some time to observe. I slowly sipped my drink to remain sober and refused any stronger shots that the female officers proposed. I still didn't trust them – their slightly flirtatious behavior was confusing the hell out of me seeing as all of them were my superiors. I was wondering whether they were trying to lure me into the false feeling of security and it was just another test for me. On the other hand, perhaps I was just overanalyzing everything, while they genuinely wanted to unwind on Friday night. Either way, I refused to get drunk and carried on with the small talk, ignoring some rather overt pick-up lines from the women surrounding me. Don't get me wrong – I would love nothing more than just to flirt with them right back, give as good as I received. But until I was certain of my standing in the Security Branch that simply wasn't going to happen. I knew a thing or two about history. For example, Prussian army recruiters in the 18th century were fond of bringing young men to taverns and pubs, getting them drunk and having them sign the enlistment papers when they were barely lucid. British recruiters did it as well, if I remembered my history correctly.

'Of course, in my case Security Branch didn't have to bother with such underhanded tactics since I enlisted of my own volition' I thought sarcastically.

* * *

**A/N: First part of chapter 3 is done. Dubois is taking time to unwind a little from all the crap he'd been through so far. And what would be better for relaxation than Mankind's favourite crutch - the alcohol.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	6. Chapter 3 - Meeting The Mafia, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 3 for your enjoyment. 5,5k words, but every one of them counts. Have a good one! :)**

**WARNING: This part of the narrative contains a mature content and viewer discretion is strongly advised, hence the M rating of the fanfic. Please also bear in mind that if I put such content in the story it is for a reason, not merely for my own amusement. ;)**

**It is betaed by the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 3, part 2**

Some time had passed and I bravely kept up with the conversation, but the lack of alcohol in my veins started to bother me rather quickly. I was never the one to stay dry, especially not when I was sitting in a pub. I remembered when I was in college and my best friend was too lazy to take a bus to meet us, so he came by a car. For the rest of the evening he had to drink green tea, while we all had beers. We teased him about it mercilessly. Those were good times.

But this time the tables have turned and I found myself in his shoes. I noticed that staying sober when other people are tipsy is no fun at all. The glass that contained my weak cocktail was empty already and I didn't feel comfortable with ordering another one, since I refused the drinks that female officers proposed before.

To my silent relief we were approached soon after by the Captain Galtieri. I was happy to see that he had two beers with him. He came up and greeted the ladies with a warm smile. I had to admit that Galtieri looked pretty dashing in his black dress uniform, as he wore it with the casual elegance that characterized aristocracy back in the day. It was obvious that he knew all the female officers here. He passed me one of his beers. I refused to take it on principle – we barely knew each other after all – but he just winked and said quietly.

"I've got your six, cadet. This one's on me."

With my CO's permission I took the offered beer. To my surprise the beer turned out to be a very good American-style Indian Pale Ale, which was one of my personal favorites back on my Earth. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the rich and bitter taste. I was so lost in the sensation, that I didn't notice at first that everyone was staring at me. Only when Galtieri started to laugh did I opened my eyes and notice the amused looks.

"See that, ladies? That's a man who enjoys his beer, right there."

I was more amused than embarrassed at my own behavior so I laughed as well. Meanwhile, Captain Catherine Miles scolded me jokingly.

"Can you believe it, Lucas?" She addressed smiling Galtieri. "We've been sitting here for the last half hour hanging to his every word and nothing. Yet you bring him one glass of beer and he's all yours. Do you fancy you're CO, Peter?" the redhead teased me mercilessly. We decided to use our first names when off duty, to separate a person from the rank he or she held.

I snorted at that. Well, I walked into this one all by myself.

"No Catherine, I do not. No offence Lucas, but you're simply not my type." To our mirth, Galtieri played an animation of a breaking heart on his wrist-comp. "Nevertheless, you had the right idea. Where I come from we have a saying – the quickest way to man's heart is through his stomach."

"Really?" Patricia van Koolwijk seemed unconvinced "I would rather say it's through the chest."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Well yes, if you plan on killing him." I admitted. "But what it really means is that if you wish to win a man's heart then give him the food he loves."

The female officers smiled at that, while Galtieri nodded sagely.

"It seems like your people have figured it out. What do you need to do to win a woman's heart, then?" he inquired

"Numerous philosophers, poets and artists asked the same question, but the female heart appears to be beyond our comprehension." I said solemnly, trying and failing to stifle my laughter.

Galtieri guffawed, while the ladies exchanged exasperated looks.

"Men. Why do we even bother with you?" said Captain Shi-Lee, but her eyes betrayed her own amusement.

From then on, the conversation was much more relaxed. I occasionally responded to subtle flirtation attempts from the female officers, but I made a conscious decision that certain lines could not be crossed – off-duty or not, they were my superiors. I also noticed from the way the officers talked that this flirtation was sort of a verbal game. I learned only later that it was really the case – verbal exchanges with other agents taught you to keep a level head in any circumstances, made you pay attention to the conversation at hand and helped you with finding subtle hints from the way people talked. All of those were very helpful in our work as field agents. It was pretty funny, because ordinarily I would have never expected to learn new things that way. But what was important was that it was actually working for me. It was a double-edged sword though, as you could never know how genuine people's reactions were. A double-edged edged sword, sharpened with an overabundance of double entendres.

Despite all that I had to admit that it was a very pleasant evening and by the end of it I didn't regret coming here. I've learned that Lucas Galtieri was divorced in addition to being a veteran of many combat operations. His ex-wife was unable to cope with the pressure of being married to a Special Forces operator, even after he transferred to Security Branch just for her. Patricia van Koolwijk was a highly-respected specialist in her field, who wrote the Army manual on demolitions handling and explosive ordinance disposal. She was also single and willing – her words, not mine. Catherine Miles was happily married to an artist of all people, who apparently enjoyed painting her nude. She got a little tipsy on cocktails and wanted to share with us his paintings, but Lucy managed to talk her out of this. Still, Catherine promised to send me some paintings to my holo-tablet and I happily agreed – I'm an agent not a priest, so give me a break. Lucy Shi-Lee could talk your ears off with her anecdotes on life in the External Affairs Bureau. Some of her stories were so outlandish that they had to be real – you couldn't make something like that up. She was in an on-and-off relationship with a woman from the Interactive Dislocation Department, but she indicated that she could be available if Galtieri wanted some benefits in their friendship – she apparently took pity on him, when his wife left him. After the last bit I simply couldn't keep quiet anymore and asked.

"Look guys, I can't ignore the elephant in the room anymore. How does Security Branch look upon such…" I stammered a little, looking for a correct word. "…liaisons? I may not have been in the military for too long, but I know that anti-fraternization policies are there for a reason. And yet it seems like it doesn't really apply to you? What's the catch?"

As if by magic wand, their faces turned serious as if I committed some sort of faux-pas. To be honest, I didn't care in the slightest. This had to be addressed immediately, before I said or did something wrong. I doubted that a commanding officer like General Anjou would tolerate such behavior among his senior staff anyway.

"Patricia, you have mentioned yourself that Bureau takes great pains to treat you as an officer first, and a woman second." I continued, looking at van Koolwijk.

"Are you implying that we are not professional enough regarding our work, Peter?" asked Lucy coldly. She looked very serious, but the tone of her voice indicated that she was trying to get a rise out of me.

"That was not what I asked, and you know it," I responded evenly, not willing to take the bait and turn it into a pissing contest.

"Now, now there is no need to be rude about it. Peter asked a legitimate question and deserves an honest answer," said Galtieri in a placating manner.

"Indeed," agreed Patricia. "As for your question: Security Branch is not part of the Confederate Armed Forces and anti-fraternization rules do not apply. We train with weapons, wear uniforms and have a chain of command, but we are not the Army. You are more likely to listen in on a wiretap for two days, rather than lead a fireteam through the city. In an ideal situation you wouldn't have to fire your gun at all, because your most important weapon will be your mind. Because of that Security Branch agents are allowed much more leeway, since formally we are just Public Safety clerks. That is why you see that we have a rather… loose approach to things like fraternization in workplace."

She narrowed her eyes at me and her tone changed to one of warning.

"All that said, make no mistake, Peter. Whatever is happening off-duty mustn't have any influence on your work. On this rule we will not budge, do we understand each other?"

"Yes, ma'am." I still wasn't 100 percent sure about that, but if Security Branch was convinced that it worked better that way, I wasn't going to be the one to rock the boat.

She smiled at me, her tone playful again.

"What did I tell you about calling me that when we're off-duty?" she teased.

And just like that, everything went back to normal. We talked some more and I learned further about the workings of Security Branch and their approach to their employees private lives. Basically it was a 'don't ask, don't tell' up to eleven – as far as the Bureau was concerned, when agents were on the clock they had no relationships, no sexual orientation and no political opinions. When they were done with their assignment, they were free to do as they pleased.

Soon after, I decided to take my leave so I got up and said my goodbyes to everyone. I came to an agreement with Galtieri that we will start tomorrow at 08:30 so I had a good night sleep guaranteed. Apart from a weak cocktail and two beers – I had another one of these wonderful ales – I didn't drink much, so I felt pretty good overall. Patricia on the other hand looked rather under the weather. She had a few shots of what might have been the local equivalent of vodka in addition to her cocktails, and her cheeks were rosy. She stumbled a little and loudly declared that she was also going home, to avoid getting utterly drunk. Lucas asked me to take her to the shuttle that was commuting with the base and I agreed – I wouldn't leave her alone in this state anyway. She was a trained operative, but she was still in no shape to be travelling alone.

We walked back toward the landing pad and boarded one of the shuttles. This time I had no chance to talk to the pilots as the door to their cabin was closed. I took a seat next to Patricia and watched her cautiously. She was rocking back and forth a little bit and I was afraid for a moment that she might get sick, but then she leaned on me and started snoring. I couldn't help but smile at that as I said.

"Good night, ma'am."

She opened one of her eyes and murmured sleepily.

"Don' be callin' me ma'am when off-duty… makes me feel old…"

She didn't wait for my answer and went back to sleep on my shoulder.

* * *

It took us about forty five minutes to get back to Camp Bravo Two, and in the meantime Colonel van Koolwijk woke up twice and played on her wrist-comp for a moment just to fall asleep again. I laid her down on one of the medevac benches and put my uniform coat under her head – it would get wrinkled, but Lox told me that washing here is done automatically, unless assigned as a punishment to recruit details. It seemed like the good old military punishments never change, even if you are in the future. When we finally reached the base I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn't budge. I tried to call the shuttle pilots, but they left through the other door, ignoring me completely. When I waved at them, both pilots laughed at my misfortune, but they did not offer to help. As both of them were flight officers I couldn't well order them around, so it was up to me to take Patricia back to her barracks.

At first I thought I'd take her in a fireman's carry, but she was a woman and I considered myself somewhat of a gentleman. So I threw my uniform jacket back on, picked her up bridal-style and carried her to one of the prefabs. She was still sleeping soundly when I entered the female barrack – it was mostly empty as many female officers were staying in the city. I followed my trusty Pathfinder app to her room and stood in front of the door. I laid van Koolwijk down at the corridor and tried to access her room. To my surprise they were completely sealed off and any manipulations done with my wrist-comp ended with the holographic display stubbornly saying 'Access Refused'. I had half of mind to take out my holo-tablet and hack the door, as it was either that or leave her on the floor, but then I noticed Patricia's wrist comp which was still partially active.

I picked her hand up gently from her sitting position on the floor and accessed her wrist-comp. As expected, it was placed in a hibernation mode and I didn't even require a password to use it. I immediately noticed that her front display was much messier than mine. Patricia had various icons scattered around the desktop and it took me sometime to access her door lock, which was hidden in her picture folder. I clicked on the door lock app and a password query appeared. I used one of my simple wrist-comp apps to access the password and open the door. Quite happy with my ingenuity I picked up the sleeping woman and carried her to the bed. I laid her down and took of her shoes. I found a rolled up blanket under her bunk, so I picked it up and covered her prone form.

I was not sure whether I wanted to share this part of my story, but I decided that narrative just wouldn't be complete without it. In addition – what occurred there, on that night had a profound effect on the choices I made later on.

I was ready to leave her apartment room, but when I turned toward the exit her hand shot out and grabbed my arm, pulling me down. I had no chance to react and my body lost its balance, so I fell across her bed rather ungainly. Her other hand grabbed my necktie and pulled my face toward hers. We kissed sloppily, like a pair of teenagers, while she grabbed my crotch and squeezed it, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body. I pulled out from the kiss and could only say one word:

"Fuck!" I gasped for air while she eyed me hungrily.

"What's the matter?" she looked me in the eye. Through the haze of my desire I managed to notice that her slurring was gone and her movements were well coordinated. I ceased that train of thought immediately, when she gave my crotch another squeeze. Results of her ministrations were instantly noticeable and I moaned quietly.

"You know, if you can't get it up after two beers I'll be glad to help you out, tiger" Her words were teasing, but the tone of her voice carried a promise. It sounded husky with lust and I'm sure I would have sounded similar if I were able to talk. Before my instincts completely took over I had my last lucid thought.

In my mind I saw Erica. She was the girl I loved and with who I'd spent the last few years of my life. I remembered all the good times we'd had. I was no saint, but it still felt awful to fool around with the woman I'd just met this morning. Was that really who I was? Perhaps the IDD people were right after all – I would gladly backstab and sneak around to achieve my goals or cater to my selfish desires. Or perhaps I was just a wild animal? All she had to do was to show me her breasts and legs and I was all over her in an instant. It was pathetic.

Of course, Patricia's lips didn't help my thought process at all. She kissed my neck, while slowly removing her clothes. She moved away for a moment to kneel on her bunk and I barely restrained a whimper of protest. She used her wrist-comp to turn on one of the smaller lights and she stretched her body, letting me see her silhouette in all of her naked glory.

God, she was gorgeous! She was athletic and yet curvaceous. There was no blemish on her skin, apart from few old combat scars, which only emphasized the dangerous edge in her natural beauty. She looked perfect to me and my body reacted to her instantaneously. She was glistening with sweat and I could smell the musky fragrance of her arousal. I would later on rationalize that as there was no going back to Earth anyway, and that it wouldn't hurt anyone to have a little fun. But deep down I knew that the moment she dragged me into her bed, all rational thoughts were gone and all that was left was pure, unadulterated lust. I was simply too weak-minded to deny my new body its release.

I got up from the bed and grabbed a handful of her hair, kissing her passionately, while my other hand explored her nude body. My fingers entered her warm and wet opening, while I used my thumb to massage her on the outside. Patricia moaned into my mouth and her body moved closer to mine, while her hands made short work of my black breeches. Other parts of my uniform were long gone, but I didn't care about it in the slightest, only paying attention to the moaning woman in front of me. She allowed me to do anything with her and if I found it strange at the time I didn't stop to think it through. I pushed her onto her bunk and climbed on top of her. The smile on her face was inviting and challenging, which only fueled my lust further. I entered her roughly and deeply, biting her shoulder blade as I did so. What we did later on was not lovemaking by any stretch but carnal fucking fueled by lust and desire, pure and simple. My new body reacted to endorphins released by my brain like felines to catnip and I wanted even more. Patricia reacted to my ministration just like I wanted her to and we both reached climax at the same time, a rare occurrence. I collapsed on top of her, physically and emotionally exhausted, but she just smiled sweetly at me and pecked me on the lips.

"The night's still young, tiger. I want to see how you work under me now."

She flipped me on my back with the strength I didn't know she possessed, which surprised me – after all she was so meek and obedient so far. But now she straddled my body with her strong thighs and I was reacting to her once again. I wasn't passive or inattentive in bed, but I've never considered myself a sexual record-holder either. But right now, to my great surprise Patricia was invigorating me in a way I'd never thought possible and my body was responding to her – I was filled with wanting again, my strength was returning as if someone turned on the switch in my brain.

This time we took it slower and I savored every moment of it. My hands were all over her body, taking time with their exploration. Our second climax, so unlike our previous wild and uncontrolled experience came with soft waves of pleasure going through our joined bodies. Patricia whimpered softly and then arched her back, while I simply bit my bottom lip and rode on as I felt my limbs shudder. She collapsed on top of me, and I couldn't find the strength to move her. Fortunately, she was lucid enough to gently move to the side and lie down next to me. She wrapped her arm around my chest and bit my shoulder slightly. She looked at me with a lazy smile and said.

"So, how did you like it, tiger? Was it everything you expected when we met in the morning?"

I looked at her with a frown.

"When we met in the morning I had no expectations whatsoever."

"Liar," she giggled at my flustered face.

"You have clearly mixed up sexual fantasies with honest expectations. Those two are not the same, Patricia." I explained snidely, but my weak joke fell short as she laughed quietly at me.

"Heavens, you are something else Peter! I love it when you start talking all proper just to show your uncompromising side. You know it would have worked much better if we haven't just fucked."

That was true, but did it really matter? 'Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit' as Saint Paul wrote to Corinthians. But it wasn't even my real body, because I was just a clone. And I was going to be cloned again, really soon. What did it matter if I kept it clean and pure? Times they were a'changing, indeed. Bob Dylan, you bastard! You just had to jinx it, didn't you?

I snorted to myself, which caused Patricia to perk up again. Her electric blue eyes were beautiful, I concluded.

"What's so funny now?"

Caressing her soft cheek I pecked her on the lips.

"I was just considering the existential side to having sex." I said jokingly

"And what is your conclusion?" she was smiling now

"That it doesn't matter at all. Are you ready for another round?" I teased

To my surprise she smiled and straddled me again. Once again, I smelled the musky fragrance and felt the wetness below.

"Do you even have to ask?" she bit my lower lip and used her hand to guide my hardening member to her warm and inviting sheath. We both moaned when I entered her once again and soon we settled into comfortable rhythm.

We took it slow once again, using our mouths and hands to explore and tease our bodies. When we reached our climax it was comfortable and pleasant. This time we just kissed and no words were spoken as we both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Soft beeping of the alarm on my wrist comp woke me up. I noticed the sleeping form of Patricia van Koolwijk. She was snuggled close to me and looked innocent and sweet, which I now knew to be a very misleading impression. I could tell that both of us needed a shower though as we smelled of sweat and other bodily fluids. After moving her gently to the other half of her narrow bunk, I got up and started collecting pieces of my uniform. My dress blacks were wrinkled, but the white button up shirt was surprisingly fresh looking. I had trouble locating my undershirt and my boxers, which for some unfathomable reason ended up under Patricia's desk. I noticed a large, full-length mirror on one of the walls and admired my nude body in it. It was still difficult to comprehend for me how different and yet so similar it was to my original one. I tapped my crotch lightly with my hand and a shit-eating grin.

"Good job, my lad." I said smugly.

"Heavens! Don't fall in love with yourself, Dubois." I heard a voice from the bed and turned around.

Patricia was lying on her side and watching me with an amused expression.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Miss van Koolwijk. I've been in love with myself since day one." I joked.

I sat back on the bed and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. By all means it should have been an awkward morning for us, but for one reason or another I didn't feel any embarrassment about the night before. When I shared my observation with Patricia she only said:

"Good. It means that you're learning faster than I anticipated."

Comprehension dawned on me, when I recalled the details from the previous night. Emotions were running high yesterday evening, but when I got it out of my system I noticed that I could analyze the events from the night before with remarkable clarity.

"You weren't drunk at all, were you?" I asked quietly.

She shook her head and sat next to me, caressing my bicep slightly.

"No, I wasn't. When we were on the shuttle, I used my wrist-comp to purge alcohol from my body. I also ordered the pilots to leave you alone when we landed, to see how you would react."

"And what did you learn? That I was gentlemanly enough to take a drunken girl back home, but opportunistic enough to take advantage of her?" I said self-deprecatingly.

"Don't be an idiot, Dubois." She scolded me lightly. "You were ready to leave me there, but I dragged you back. I may or may not have used some aphrodisiac on you, tiger" she explained, to my growing horror.

"Jesus…" I whispered astonished and appalled at the same time. "You drugged me? I didn't feel anything."

"Not really." Patricia was in her lecture-mode right now, never mind that she was sitting on her own bunk, stark-naked. "I spread a pheromone enhancer on my lips when you were tucking me into my bed – which was really sweet, by the way – and when I kissed you it was transferred to your mouth where you ingested it."

I wanted to interrupt her, but she ignored me and continued with her explanation.

"Before you ask, it was a completely legal enhancement product, the likes of which you will encounter during your deployment in Mass Effect Universe. It increases your libido and provides an in-depth sexual experience for your touch receptors. It was a weapon I used against you."

That actually made sense. I got to know these people and had some great laughs yesterday evening, but I tended to forget that they were spies first and foremost and they were training me to be one of them.

"I see. Then why did you go through this entire charade, pretending to be drunk?"

"I wanted to see how you react to obstacles on your way. You had to go through my door, but I didn't give you the password. You proved resourceful enough to use my own wrist-comp to access the door," she explained patiently.

"I know it might sound wrong, Peter, but sometimes you will have to use yourself against some female assets to gain access to information that might be otherwise unavailable. Your body, just like your mind is your weapon in the service of Confederacy. You may find yourself in a position where it will be the only way to get what you need."

That was cold. Very cold. I could easily imagine myself drugging women (or men) to access their omni-tools and steal their data and it wasn't a pretty picture. But I had one more question.

"Why did you have sex with me? What does it prove?"

She actually smiled at that.

"What would happen if I sent you back to your bunk with blue balls, after teasing you all evening? You would probably find another way to find your release." Her tone was still serious, but I could see glitter of amusement in her eyes.

I snickered at the idea, but I couldn't deny that it was the truth. I'm an agent not a monk, for heaven's sake.

"Imagine now, that we deploy you to Sub-verse F-Out number 524 frustrated and horny. It would take one Asari stripper or a female Naval Intelligence agent to get you into bed. In no time you would be falling in love and spilling all your secrets, compromising our whole operation."

I shook my head at that.

"That's a very far-fetched theory."

"Yes it is." Patricia agreed readily. "But no matter how far-fetched or improbable, we must take precautions. We want you to use your body as a weapon, not to have it used against you. There are some crafty and devious people in number 524 who are willing and able to use any tactics available to get the information they need."

Well, no argument here. I thought with a shudder about Shadow Broker, The Illusive Man or even Aria T'Loak – they were just funny Bond villains when I played Mass Effect, but now they seemed all too real. That is not to mention the leaders of Batarian Hegemony or some more determined Terminus warlords. You always expect them to come at you in force and send someone like Kai Leng with his ridiculous swords, but how many secrets were discovered through simple misdirection? A helpful junk retailer on Omega or some cute Asari clerk on Citadel that you took out for a dinner could be working for Cerberus or even Shadow Broker himself. As a spy I was expected to lay low and do my job, but I had no illusions that sooner or later less than savory elements of Mass Effect universe will take interest in me – the Shadow Broker or The Illusive Man may not be aware of the existence of Multiverse, but the former's job was information brokering while the latter was egomaniac, not incompetent.

Well, back to the situation at hand. I looked at Patricia and sighed. I guess I should have expected that I would be tested all the time. Part of being a field agent is learning how to deal with disappointment as I remembered from one of my data transfers.

"Okay, I understand why you did what you did. So it was business as usual, huh?" I tried and failed to sound unaffected by this whole ordeal.

She smiled and kissed me on the lips.

"As far as orders go, this was one of the most pleasant ones." She leaned in and whispered in my ear. "I volunteered for that, tiger. And I would do it again. In fact, I'm willing to do it again." She bit my earlobe and dragged me back to the bed with her. She breathed in my ear.

"If you want I can be yours until the deployment, tiger."

If she thought it was going to be that easy, she was going to be very disappointed too. I answered with my best smug grin.

"We will see."

This caused her to laugh.

"Cheeky. I love it."

This time we did not have the pheromone enhancer to increase our reception or libido. Still, we did not leave Patricia's bed for the next half hour. Afterwards we really had to hurry up with the shower and I was nearly late for my meeting with Galtieri.

END OF CHAPTER 3

* * *

**A/N: That's it for the sex scenes in this story! The hero had some, so he can now go and be celibate for the rest of his life. I'm joking of course - Dubois is a grown-up and he has a grown-up approach to sexual intercourse. And believe me, he won't always be a nice guy about these things - remember that for a Security Branch operative a body is a tool just like any other.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	7. Chapter 4 - Mastering Tools Of War pt 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: I am back from holidays and unfortunately it's time to get back to work. Despite being away I've managed to squeeze in an update, but now it's time to begin a whole new chapter. This update is a bit shorter with 4,6k words. I sincerly hope that you enjoy it.**

****My beta is still the one and the only Redentor****

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Mastering The Tools Of War**

_It is essential to seek out enemy agents who have come to conduct espionage against you and to bribe them to serve you. Give them instructions and care for them. Thus doubled agents are recruited and used._

_Sun Tzu_

* * *

While I liked and enjoyed the elegance and sharpness of my dress uniform, nothing could beat the comfort and utility of our camouflaged garrison fatigues. I met Galtieri at 08:30 am and true to his word he never mentioned the events of yesterday. If anything, he was even more eager to get back into our workout routine. We've run even more today than we managed on Friday and we took some time to do hand-to-hand combat training afterwards. This time after changing our workout clothes we didn't go for breakfast in the mess hall, but we had Lox in his terminator-like chassis deliver the food to us. Helpful Lox also brought his holo-tablet and we did a short data-transfer on the IT technology in Mass Effect Universe. The knowledge transfer was painful as always, but I was getting used to it by now.

Major Sharpe approached us, when we were getting ready to go to the shooting range. I stood at attention and saluted him and he passed me a small box.

"This is for you, Officer Cadet Dubois. It's a symbol that you are truly part of the mafia." Sharpe said officially and motioned for me to open the container.

I used my wrist-comp to open the locked box and inside I found two 213th Infiltration Brigade shoulder insignias and two small, dark grey strips which said '3rd Btn.' and below the battalion's motto: 'Hold Fast'. There was also a silver beret flash with the brigade symbol – two crossed swords with the Confederacy semi-cog in the background and a number - 213. Although we didn't have any ceremonial music playing or anything, the moment felt very solemn and serious. I looked at Sharpe and Galtieri and said.

"Thank you, sirs. It's an honour to have an opportunity to serve with you."

I didn't say that just to please them. I felt really distinguished by the fact that I would be reporting directly to those two men. I had spoken with Captain Shi-Lee and Captain Miles yesterday about my training under Galtieri and the talk I had with Sharpe. Catherine Miles told me that both Captain Galtieri and Major Sharpe were very well known in certain circles of the Confederacy Special Forces and they were quickly making names for themselves in the Security Branch as well. I was also made aware by Colonel van Koolwijk, that sharing private combat memories is rarely done with green recruits for fear of them developing PTSD if data transfer was established without taking precautions. It was also considered a sign of trust when it was done, because it showed that the recruit had proven that he was able to handle such pressure. I had no idea what I did to earn such an honour in Lucas Galtieri's eyes, but I was moved by it nevertheless.

Both officers took out the shoulder insignias and battalion stripes from the box and put them on my shoulders, fastening them to my fatigues with magnetic locks. I opted to install the headgear flash myself and proudly placed the blue beret on my head. Lox offered to take other insignias and put them on my dress uniforms to which I happily agreed. Afterwards, Major Sharpe left citing other responsibilities he needed to attend to. I finally got to learn his first name, but to my quiet disappointment it was Frederick, not Richard. Oh well…

We stayed on the shooting range for three hours and by the end of it my arms were sore from exertion. This time we focused more on accurate shooting. I was expected to quickly switch between the moving targets and tag each of them with at least one accurate shot. It was a gruelling task and when the novelty of shooting futuristic assault rifle wore off it felt like a chore. The last hour, on the other hand, was very exciting as we spent it on a tactical shooting range combined with an obstacle course. This time I had to move between various covers, while Lox operated a laser pointer rifle at the end of the range, which simulated enemy fire. I was expected to fire a short burst that would silence the gunner on the other side and that gave me few seconds either, to adjust my aim and fire another shot or to move toward the next cover. This task I had to repeat a few times as well, but it was very exciting as on Galtieri's suggestion I was changing my tactics slightly on each try.

All in all, it was a very productive day. I spent an hour or so recuperating in the swimming pool, but afterwards I had to receive a few data packages from Lox on IT technology and cryptography. I seriously doubted that I will ever require either of them and voiced my doubts to Galtieri. He simply shrugged it off and said.

"It doesn't matter if you need it or not, Officer Cadet. If it's in the curriculum you have to learn it."

Yeah, some things never changed, no matter where I was. After we were through with our data transfers we went for a quick spar. I truly felt like I was getting somewhere with hand-to-hand combat, but it would be weeks before I could be anywhere near proficient with it. In previous sparring sessions, I had only managed to last a minute or less under Galtieri's onslaught, usually culminating in embarrassing knockouts. But I had progressed with my footwork and boxing. Now fights began to end with myself, woefully tapping out of my trainer's scissor or chokeholds. Martial arts it seemed, was a many faceted diamond. When we were finished with the training we went for a quick meal in the mess hall, which was hauntingly empty. As we sat there I finally had some spare time to ask Galtieri another question that was bugging me since yesterday evening.

"Why did you allow me to see your combat mission memories, sir? We barely know each other as it is."

Galtieri poured himself some coffee from the pot as he pondered my question. Finally, when I started to fidget, he answered.

"Your mission will be far from easy, Officer Cadet. Reapers are a terrifying enemy, even if we have a non-belligerence agreement with them now. As such, we decided with Major Sharpe that you will be needing all possible help to succeed. And besides…" he smiled "I do know you, Dubois. We know you're entire life, before the consciousness transfer to our 'verse and I knew that you could handle whatever we throw at you."

After a moment he added with unhappy murmur

"And we learned that ourselves, despite the bloody IDD's refusal to hand over their data on you."

That was new – I had no idea that Security Branch was that invested in the consciousness acquisition procedure. It also explained the animosity that existed between the Security Branch officers and Interactive Dislocation Department personnel. I smirked at the thought – it was a classic example of bureaucratic warfare. Spooks and eggheads had overlapping responsibilities and it resulted in a vicious tug-of-war where employees on both sides guarded their territory like a pack of wolves. I might be wrong, but it could also explain why Dr. Anneke Koeckritz was willing let me know about the fact that I would eventually be sent to the Mass Effect universe, against the wishes of the Security Branch. She didn't actually break any rules as she only dropped some subtle hints, but she wanted to spite the 'firm' in some small way. And she succeeded, after a fashion. And doubtless it was for the same reason that other members of the Consciousness Acquisition team were so forthcoming in sharing their own experiences with Security Branch. An old proverb 'where two quarrel the third one wins' was proven true once again

What was really sad about all this was the fact that bureaucratic battles of attrition were not usually waged over important resources or money from the budget. They were done purely to satisfy the participants and to reaffirm themselves that they were in the 'right'. I've seen it done dozens of times in the office and I always considered it counterproductive, but it was as much a tradition in government agencies as going on Italian Strike.

I was also confused to some extent by Galtieri's words, because in all honesty I couldn't see what in my previous life indicated that I was better suited for the task ahead than any other guy who played Mass Effect. I wasn't even that much of a fan of the series.

"Do you honestly believe that I can succeed, sir? Major Sharpe, when we spoke yesterday, pretty much said it, that he didn't have much hope for peace with the Reapers. And we both know that the Confederacy is not going to intervene when the bloody abominations begin their Harvest."

Galtieri's face was serious, but I saw some glimmer of emotion in his eyes. It appeared just for a second and was just as quickly gone, before I could identify what it was. He took a sip of his coffee and said.

"I believe you will have the tools and training to make a difference, Dubois. And I'm sure that you will do your best, because I can see in you a man who, despite his faults, wants to do the right thing."

"It is a hell of a gamble though, betting it all on one man, sir. It gives us a single point of failure, when push comes to shove." I pointed out, as I put some peanut butter on my toast.

"I agree, Officer Cadet, but don't forget that you will not be alone. The 213th Infiltration Brigade will be there for you and we can do some creative accounting to have Confederacy cough up more resources or men if we need them. Security Branch will never leave their man hanging." said Galtieri with a smile.

I nodded. It would be a waste of resources to build up a man with a brand new body just to let him die in some universe. Like it or not, I was the Security Branch's investment and they wanted me at the very least to make that investment worthwhile.

"Besides," added Galtieri after a moment of thought. "There are plenty of people in the Mass Effect 'verse who are willing to make a stand, they will just need either a little nudge in the right direction or a little help from behind the scenes. There is the Systems Alliance with Admiral Hackett and Captain Anderson. Even the Ambassador Donnel Udina – he does the wrong things, but for all the right reasons. There are people in the Turian hierarchy like Adrien Victus. There is Dr. T'Soni who can achieve many things if she is provided with the right resources. There are numerous others like Captain Kirrahe or Garrus Vakarian who want to do the right thing. Even Cerberus was willing to provide resources for the fight, before The Illusive Man got indoctrinated. Finally, there is Commander Shepard and the crew of the Normandy. You will have plenty of allies, but you have to husband your resources all the same, because if you can't stop the Reapers from their Harvest they will come at the Galaxy with full force."

Galtieri exhaled heavily as he emptied his coffee cup.

"Just so you know – if the worse comes to the worst we can extract you. But we can't fight the Reapers with the resources of a single brigade only. That's why we deploy you in advance. But always remember one thing: you know what is going to happen. If the Mass Effect universe were a game, you would be our cheat code," he finished with a smile

"I've been called many things in my life, but never a cheat code, sir"

"You are being cheeky, Officer Cadet," grumbled Galtieri good-naturedly.

"Yes sir."

Galtieri got up and motioned me to follow him. We left the nearly empty mess-hall and went toward the barracks occupied by the Duty Platoon.

"We still have some time to work on your weaponry. It better be clean and in tip-top shape when I inspect it tomorrow morning or you will regret it, Officer Cadet. When we're done you will have the rest of the evening to yourself. It's the weekend after all."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir"

So we went to the Duty Platoon barrack and collected some of my weapons and my lightweight Interceptor body armour. We took it to the small workshop that was joined with the barrack and I took my time to reacquaint myself with the weaponry once again. I noticed that thanks to the training so far and the memories transferred from Galtieri I didn't have to think about field stripping the carbine or my sidearm. It was as if I already knew what to do. I admit that data-transfer technology might as well be the greatest invention that the Confederacy ever made. Forget dimension hopping – with data transfers you could have an army of specialists created in any field you needed. No civil engineers? Take some construction workers and have them absorb knowledge. No medical doctors? Same thing. Confederacy didn't have to worry about knowledge shortage, because it took them mere minutes to pass enough knowledge to someone and have a competent worker to do the job.

As usual, there is no rose without thorns and so it was with the knowledge transfer technology. Galtieri warned me that data-transfers will help me gain basic orientation in every topic I absorb, but the experience on how to use it will only come with time and dedication. For example, you could transfer me the knowledge on using the laser-scalpel and human anatomy, but it doesn't mean that I will be able to perform real surgery. I would require long hours of additional training before I would even be allowed to attempt such a responsible task. Nevertheless, I would gladly have accepted access to data-transfers during my time at the University, painful transferences or no. It would dramatically decrease my study time and leave me with more freedom, which appealed to my lazy nature.

I barely noticed the time pass as I cleared the weapons. Futuristic firearms were more sophisticated in their design than our gunpowder counterparts. Thankfully the weapon designers took into consideration the need for field stripping and they streamlined and simplified their creations to the maximum. Everything you might need for stripping and cleaning your main weapon was included in the rifle stock. With the sidearm it was a bit more complicated, but you could still strip it without any extra tools. Unfortunately, the Interceptor was full body armour and required a properly kitted field workshop to strip and clean it. On the other hand, the armour was very durable and rugged so it could be used in a very hostile environment for a lengthy period before it required general maintenance. A boon if I ever found myself in a position for survival and extraction techniques.

All in all, I noted that both the weapons and armours of the Confederacy operated on very advanced designs which had been field tested multiple times in various environments. This guaranteed their durability and economy, without a shadow of a reasonable doubt. Say what you want about the Confederacy's overdeveloped bureaucracy, but their quality standards were second to none.

When I was done with my equipment maintenance I was dismissed by Galtieri. As it was still early evening I found myself at loss at what to do. So far the officers were pretty much organizing my time here, as it should be in the military, but when I was expected to find something to do by myself I was stumped. I considered my options and discarded all of them. I couldn't go out and meet my friends, because they weren't here. Neither was my family or my girlfriend – I bravely fought off another wave of loneliness and guilt when I thought of them.

I considered visiting Patricia again, but what could I say to her? She pretty much slept with me because she was ordered to. I knew that she would gladly have sex with me again should I ask her, but was it how I wanted to spend my time here? Train to be a good soldier and agent by day and fuck the brains out of your superior by night?

I shook my head and decided to go back to my bunk. When I came back I went about cleaning the room. I was finished all too soon and found myself sitting on my bed, once again at a loss of something to do. Suddenly, there was a beep on my wrist-comp that signalled an incoming message. I activated the tool and read it. It brought a smile to my face.

It appeared that Captain Catherine Miles was a woman of her word. She sent me her nude pictures painted by her husband. At first I thought that she was simply being shameless, but when I opened the first one I was actually surprised at the beauty of the paintings. Most of them were done through holographic applications on tablets, but there were a few done with traditional canvas and paint. Mr. Miles was obviously a talented man who loved his wife very much. Catherine wasn't plain by any standard, but his paintings seemed to bring out and emphasize her natural beauty. Many times I've encountered nudes that were presented as erotic art, but were in truth nothing more but glorified porn. Here there was no obscenity or vulgarity of any sort, only the true beauty caught in a moment by a talented artist.

I typed a message to Catherine.

'These paintings are beautiful. Is there any chance to see more of your husband's work? Please send him my compliments. Regards, Peter'

I put a smiley face at the end and clicked a send button. Only afterwards I started wondering whether they used emoticons here. I received Catherine's response shortly after.

'Glad you liked it. I'll see what I can find for you. :)' seems like they used smileys after all 'Last night was a blast, we should meet again sometime. How was Patricia?'

I wasn't even surprised that she was aware of our nightly activities. Knowing my luck the whole facility would know the details by the weekend's end. It was possible that some people will look down on me because of what I did, but I couldn't care less. I was being sent to fight the bloody Reapers for Christ's sake.

'Sorry Catherine, I don't kiss and tell. ;)' was my reply

'Oh you tease… I'm going to get the full story from you. You just wait. :P See you soon!'

And so we ended our exchange of pleasantries. Seeing as there was nothing better to do, I took out my holo-tablet and started reading some more of my training materials.

* * *

The next two weeks were a haze of activity for me. As promised we went through my basic training at what must have been a record speed. In between the physical activities and weapons training I've had plenty of painful data transfers, which left me mentally exhausted. I waved away all concerns about my well-being, knowing that each passing day brought me closer to deployment and the bloody Reapers. I've been asking Major Sharpe constantly whether they made any inroads on the diplomatic front, but so far Confederacy Diplomatic Corps had been very reticent about sharing any official news. As far as Sharpe could determine through the back-room talk, Confederacy diplomats were having very little success negotiating with Reapers about anything other than a non-aggression pact. It was very bad news for me. There was simply no way that the Confederacy would get involved in a war with the Reapers, unless the machines fired first. Unfortunately, I knew that Sovereign, Harbinger and the rest of their merry band of artificial creeps were way too smart for that. They could easily calculate the odds of fighting a war against a polity that spanned tens of thousands of worlds in multiple universes, which could use their starships to jump in and out of combat at moment's notice via dimension hopping.

All things considered, I wasn't very surprised that the Confederacy diplomats had such trouble negotiating with the Reapers. The machines, for all their sophistication and advancement were relatively simplistic in their programming. They wanted to preserve the intelligent life in the Galaxy and the only way to do that (according to their code) was to melt the people down to make another Reaper. They didn't accept any half-measures, and they would not resign from their crusade. I had no doubt that the existence of the Multiverse Confederacy threw them out of the loop for some time, but it would not make them back down on their harvest, especially if they knew that the Confederacy would not intervene. The Confederacy diplomats were probably at fault as well – they were civil servants used to compromise and back-door political agreements. Reapers with their all-or-nothing philosophy left no room for manoeuvre. The only thing the Confederacy negotiators could do was to threaten a war, but if the Reapers were aware that these were empty threats, they would not back down. Confederacy diplomats were unhappy with the situation, but they had no way to circumvent that roadblock.

Meanwhile, I was scheduled to take part in a large scale tactical exercise with the 3rd Battalion and elements of the Confederate Armed Forces stationed on this planet. The exercise was codenamed Lightning Rod and I was nominated by Galtieri to be a Team Leader during the next patrol. Our task was simple – traverse heavily forested area in a stealthy manner toward our objective, scouting enemy positions and keeping our forces updated on them. Opposing Force's had the opposite goal, which was to hold out their heavily entrenched positions and eliminating all infiltrators – our patrol among them. I was very excited, but also apprehensive at the task ahead and I took time to familiarize myself with the terrain, equipment and my team.

My second in command would be a veteran of the Confederate Army and Security Branch Tactical Squads, Sergeant Major Caleb Aberswythe. He was an imposing, dark-skinned gentleman with the manner of a British squaddie, albeit a cultured one. I'd met him a couple of times during my previous training exercises and learned to depend on him when the situation got rough. He always kept a level head, even in the most strenuous situations and was a trusted SNCO who had served with Major Sharpe and Captain Galtieri before. At first he treated me like a pest, but as I decided to simply shut up and do as I'm told and he slowly warmed up to me. He learned that I would only protest his orders if I had a valid reason to do so, thus we slowly built up a mutual respect and rapport. As with the British Army, the Confederate military and Security Branch tended to place freshly-minted officers with veteran NCO's who would teach them military craft as well as discipline the enlisted soldiers.

Initially I was surprised, that so many people in the 213th Infiltration Brigade knew each other, but as Aberswythe explained this unit was created for the sole purpose of infiltrating and possibly subverting the Mass Effect universe (or should I say - Sub-verse F-Out number 524) and that would require perfect unit cohesion, knowledge of military and External Affairs Bureau procedures and a core of veterans, which would keep it all together.

I was pouring over the holographic maps in one of the training rooms, when I noticed the door open. Captain Galtieri and Sergeant Aberswythe entered the room – when they were together, they always seemed to be goose-stepping. I stood at attention and saluted both men, which they returned. We all sat down at the conference table and Aberswythe asked.

"What are you doing up here so late, Officer Cadet?"

"I'm just preparing for tomorrow's exercise, Sergeant." I responded promptly

"Are you nervous, Dubois?" that was Galtieri. He seemed amused for some reason.

I decided to be honest about this for once. The fact was that I was a nervous wreck. I really wanted to brave it through, but I knew that if I don't spill the beans now it will only get worse as time went by.

"Yes sir. I operated under the impression that I would only be responsible for myself during the course of my deployment. But now it turns out that I will be putting others in the harm's way."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"I can't believe I'm doing it, sir." I admitted reluctantly "I don't think I can stomach the idea of leading someone else to their death." I shrugged "I don't care if I die, because in all honesty I have nothing to live for here, but the others…" I trailed of.

Aberswythe watched me with a serious expression, while Galtieri responded. He sounded weary.

"There is no way around it, Dubois. You will need to learn to shoulder the responsibility someday. Unfortunately, for you that day is tomorrow. That is the burden of command, Officer Cadet. Once the training is done, you will be promoted to an officer yourself and will be required to make tough decisions. Others will look up to you and you need to be up to that task."

I looked at both veterans with guarded expression.

"Does it get any easier, sir?"

"No, it doesn't," answered Aberswythe. "But I'll be there with you all the way, Dubois."

It took me a while to learn why armies around the world treasured their NCO's as much as they did experienced officers. These tough men and women were truly the salt of the earth. Their calm and steadfast presence helped the junior officers immensely, while their experience, level-headness and courage could salvage even the most hopeless situation and bring the soldiers home. While the Security Branch analysts found no need for me to serve with a proper, senior NCO Galtieri arranged for Aberswythe to take me unofficially under his wing. I trusted Galtieri's judgment and respected the veteran Sergeant Major. For that reason Aberswythe's simple statement was enough to calm me down.

I stood up from the table and saluted both men.

"Thank you, sir. Sergeant." I nodded at Aberswythe. "Permission to be dismissed?"

Galtieri returned my salute and said.

"Granted."

I did a crisp about-face and left the training room.

* * *

**A/N: That's the first part of Chapter 4. The next one will cover the military exercise.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	8. Chapter 4 - Mastering Tools Of War pt 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 4. Hope you enjoy it.**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

It was still early evening, but the sun was already setting. We were deployed in a small clearing by one of the Confederacy's transport shuttles, labelled as 'Fulcrum', which also doubled as a gunship. It was very similar in design to the Soviet Mi-24 'Hind', right down to the heavily armoured fuselage, 'double bubble' canopy and a crew compartment that could carry up to ten, fully kitted soldiers. Its rugged and raw interior was also reminiscent of the Red Army's approach – the crew cabin was completely empty apart from ammunition boxes and seats for the squad. Of course, Fulcrum was not a helicopter – it was a heavily armoured transport gunship powered by two anti-grav engines, which used directional thrusters to move through the air and (to a limited degree) in the vacuum. It was a perfect machine for hunting down the enemy's heavy weaponry and wheeled convoys, provided that user had an appreciable level of air superiority. Otherwise, Fulcrum became an easy target for dedicated fighter aircraft as it was relatively slow and could easily be outrun by the fighter's superior speed. The version that we flew now was utilized for covert insertion and as such it was stripped down to very basic armament.

Fulcrum hovered about ten meters or so above the ground and I was the first to leave the crew compartment. Transport gunship deployed two gravity wells, which allowed us to softly land on the ground. Our team wasted no time in securing the landing site, each of us taking a prearranged sector to observe for contacts. When all ten of us were safely down, the Fulcrum took off from the clearing and flew back to the nearest 'friendly' zone – I admired the pilot's skill, since he nearly scrapped the treetops as he flew as low as possible to avoid being pinned by the ladar.

I signalled with my hands for us to vacate the landing site. A hand held at the side, scooping in a forward motion. Not a word was spoken, as my squad disappeared into the dark tree line. Five minutes later and you wouldn't have been able to tell that someone had been there in the first place.

Instead of radios, we had subvocal receptors attached to our throats. When I whispered I could barely be heard by someone standing next to me, but my team's earpieces translated it into a normal voice.

"Freeman, you're on point. Espera and Hounslow, cover the rear. Fahri and Trang deploy the drones. Aberswythe – with me. The rest – maintain your intervals and proceed with caution. Wildcat is Oscar Mike to the next checkpoint, out." Wildcat was our callsign for this mission.

I needn't have bothered with the instructions as we went through all the tasks well ahead during our planning sessions. But the Confederacy military (and subsequently the Security Branch) adopted the policy that it's better to repeat the order ten times to make sure everyone understood rather than risk someone not knowing what to do in a critical moment. As they say, better to err on the side of caution.

Aberswythe and I had sat down at the holographic maps back at the base and placed rough checkpoints through which we'd be moving during our reconnaissance patrol. It was a difficult task, as we had to avoid the obvious routes – our enemy had access to the same topographic maps as we did, after all. Aberswythe advised that it would be better to try and move through the rough terrain and we did so.

When we were creeping through the woodland I was surprised how similar my situation was to one of Galtieri's memories. I shuddered in fear as I expected the signal flare to be fired and our patrol to come under fire from hidden enemies. No such thing happened of course, but I was still on edge when we bunkered down for the night at our first checkpoint. With Aberswythe's help I assigned the watch, pre-set fields of fire on our holographic map and assigned retreat lines and rally points in case we are ambushed by enemy in superior numbers. Afterwards I was so tired that I went to sleep immediately, as I had the last watch.

I woke up to someone shaking my shoulder. I turned around and saw through my night-vision filter the serious face of Gavin Freeman, our pathfinder and designated marksman.

"It's your watch, el-tee," he whispered and my earpiece turned his subvocals to the sound level of normal speech.

Yes, I was given the temporary rank of second lieutenant for the duration of the exercise. On the one hand, it gave me authority to command this squad, and Security Branch field agents were professionals – obeying the rank, not the man who held it was the supreme rule of the Tactical Squads. On the other hand, I felt like I was cheating fate – my skills were not up to the Security Branch standards yet. My opinion was that I had no right to be called lieutenant by these men and women.

"Thanks, Gav. Try and catch some shut-eye. We're Oscar Mike in two hours."

Freeman mumbled something that my earpiece couldn't catch and lay down in the spot that I just vacated. We slept in our Interceptor armour, as they had a passive sleep-mode – armour pumped up the back padding partially, providing an illusion of a mattress. It couldn't compare to the comfort of a real bed or even a hammock, but it was better than sleeping on the hard, cold ground.

I shared the last watch with Salmia Fahri, a very pretty and very shy girl. If she were from my Earth, I'd say she was Arabic, but with the hodgepodge of cultures and universes in the Confederacy it was really hard to say where she came from. Not that it really mattered to me – Fahri was a professional military engineer who was responsible for maintenance of our weaponry and drones in the field and she was very good at what she did.

I nodded at Specialist Fahri and stepped carefully as not to disturb Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov and Specialist Dessalines who slept by the bush. We quickly climbed the designated tree and took observation post that was placed in its crown. We used our wrist-comps to scan the nearest area and connected them to squad's network to maintain drone cover. Even with our night-vision filters it was impossible to see further than thirty-forty meters, as it was still pitch black dark so we had to depend on our drones, which silently patrolled the area.

"Hey, el-tee?" I heard Salmia's voice in my earpiece.

"What is it, Specialist?" I asked her quietly, expecting that she found something on her monitor and was ready to raise an alert.

"I…" she stammered and tried once again "It's just… you see…"

By now I knew it had nothing to do with our watch duties. I found it cute that she was so shy that she couldn't find a way to express herself. I decided to lighten the mood a little, hoping that it will make her relax.

"If you're trying to admit that you're madly in love with me, Specialist Fahri, now is not the best time for that." I tried to make my whisper sound deadpan.

Her body shook a little, which I took as a sign that she was laughing quietly. I decided to prod her a little more. It wasn't professional by any stretch, but I desperately needed to unwind. I was really starting to feel the burden of responsibility on this patrol.

"Also, please be advised that I do not slap women on the ass to indicate that they've done a good job, unless you specifically request it, of course." I said quietly, referring to the rumour that went about the base.

She turned toward me for a moment and flashed me a grateful smile, which I managed to catch as her helmet visor was partially open. I may not be the best or the brightest officer in the Security Branch, but I knew how to put people at ease.

"I know that, el-tee. I started that rumour, you know?" She whispered back. "It's just that I think we might come from the same Earth."

I was surprised, but not so much. It stands to reason that I wasn't the first person to be taken out from my universe. It was nice to meet someone from my timeline, but now we didn't have time to discuss it in depth. Although, I definitely planned to speak very sternly with Specialist Fahri about that one rumour she spread about our Earth.

"We'll talk about it after the exercise, Specialist. Now stay sharp." She nodded at that and returned to scanning her wrist-comp.

Our wrist-comps could operate in a stealth mode – the orange glow would not appear around the arm and it could only be observed through the helmet visors on certain frequencies. It was very convenient for the Security Branch Tactical Squads, as it allowed you to keep track of your allies in darkness, while the lack of visible light kept you hidden from the enemy. Of course, if you were extremely unlucky and the enemy used the same viewing frequency for their wrist-comps they had no problem finding you, but that went both ways. In any case, the Security Branch Tactical Manual advised exercise caution when using wrist-comps or holo-tablets in the field, even in the stealth mode.

The two hour watch passed sooner than I thought it would. At first light I gave the order to gather our bearings and move out toward the next checkpoint. We passed through the dense foliage, scanning the horizon, while our drone operators – Specialist Salmia Fahri and PFC Thomas Binh Trang – covered their respective sectors. We moved in a staggered column with Corporal Gavin Freeman on point. I moved behind him with one of our medical specialists – Marcus Hounslow, who also had heavy anti-tank weapon with him. Then Aberswythe, who was overseeing the back of the column. Behind him went Corporal Steven Kowalski with his light machinegun and our second medical officer – Specialist Jean-Pierre Dessalines, MD – who carried with him additional ammunition for LMG. Behind them went PFC Trang who had his drones spread behind our small column with Sergeant Mariah Polyakov, the electronic warfare specialist who kept an eye on her holo-tablet at all times, monitoring the radio and electronic data traffic. Last in the formation was second automatic rifleman PFC Kyle Espera, who protected the rear.

I was glad that I could work with these people – each of them knew what to do and in the event that we took casualties we always had other specialists ready to step in and take over duties. I couldn't have asked for a better team and according to Sergeant Major Aberswythe and Captain Galtieri, they were the best in the battalion if not the whole brigade. Obviously, other officers and NCOs claimed the same about their own squad so it got pretty diluted, but nobody could deny their overall competence.

It took us a few hours to reach our second checkpoint where Corporal Gavin Freeman, our pathfinder signalled us to stop with a raised fist and then he put his left hand on his right wrist – signalling enemy contact. We didn't need any vocal commands to scatter from our marching order and form a scattered 'Vee' around his position. As it turns out, the second checkpoint was defended by a small strongpoint with three enemy soldiers. They had a few sandbags and H-Barriers in place, but we did not detect any drones patrolling the area. After short exchange with Aberswythe we decided that it would take too long to circumvent the strongpoint, but we didn't want them to alert the rest of the enemy forces and signal where to find our patrol, either.

Aberswythe put forward a simple, yet effective plan to have Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov, our electronic warfare specialist, put out an electromagnetic interference blanket over the near vicinity, which would scramble the strongpoint's comms. We would then have our designated marksmen take the enemy soldiers down with well-aimed shots. If they fail to do so, then our automatic riflemen, Corporal Kowalski and PFC Espera would cover the strongpoint with suppressing fire.

For the duration of the exercise we were equipped with special ammunition, which shot at high speed and even heated up to high temperature, like normal plasma-coilgun beads would do. But when the super-heated beads reached a suit's energy field they would dissipate completely without harming the operator. The training beads would force the suit into full lockdown instead, which would last for three hours. Suits that were put on lockdown would send a distress signal to the unit overseeing the training, which would then covertly collect downed soldiers without interrupting the ongoing exercise. It was a system that initially sounded very complicated to me in theory, but I discovered it worked very well in practice.

Freeman took to the ground with his rifle, careful not to move too suddenly or too overtly. He settled himself, breathing in and out rhythmically to calm his heartbeat. Polyakov sat behind a tree to hide the possible glow from her tablet, taking in the readings from the airborne drones. Wind speed and direction, distance, the specifics of the rifle in question. She could use the systems provided to calculate the passage of the bullet as near to 100 percent accuracy as it was possible to go. She tapped a few buttons, interfacing with the optics mounted on Freeman's rifle. With an almost imperceptible buzz and whir, it readjusted itself. Freeman aimed, and slowly pressed the trigger down.

The plan went off without the need for the intervention of the automatic rifleman. Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov and Specialist Fahri both acquired information off the incapacitated soldier's writs-comps and associated electronics. We learned from them about the disposition of their patrols and any large concentrations of units. I might have called our mission to an end then and there, but my lessons with Galtieri and the other trainers had taught me better than that. 'Security Branch field agents must always go above and beyond the call of duty to ensure victory before the battle even begins' – it was the motto I learned. I called my subordinates for a quick meeting, after we secured the information and cleared the strongpoint.

"We've done what we set out to do here, but we will stay in the combat zone for the duration of the military operation." I said quietly to gathered operators. I saw Aberswythe giving me a knowing smile and a small nod.

"Fahri and Trang – make copies of the info we got here. Send traffic out to our command via two separate secure channels. Aberswythe and Freeman – adjust our checkpoints; set alternative routes based on the new Intel. Polyakov – maintain the illusion of the radio traffic in the strongpoint until we are gone. The rest of you – gather what you can from here. OpFor will only figure out that we took down this place in an hour at best and it will take them about forty minutes to adjust their patrol schedules. That's the time we have to strike decisive blows against the main force. Any questions?"

Nobody spoke, all of them looking at me expectantly. I could see that their morale was high thanks to our first victory together, and they were eager to continue.

"Alright. We're Oscar Mike in five. On the double people!"

This time we moved fast toward the next objective sacrificing the stealthy approach for speed. PFC Trang acquired confirmation from our command that they received the data package and were now moving the Quick Reaction Force out to strike against the highest concentration of enemy occupied areas, but they would wait for our signal. I knew that we only had a short window of opportunity to assault OpFor, so I ordered my patrol to pick up the pace. I was also aware that the information we received from our incapacitated 'enemies' could have been placed as misdirection, so I was adamant in my decision to double check the enemy positions before signalling for a full attack from our QRF.

Despite sacrificing stealth in favor of speed, we managed to successfully avoid all enemy patrols, largely thanks to our updated combat maps. We slipped under their observation network, bypassing all strongpoints and fields of fire, while moving stealthily toward the forested area on a hill that was overlooking one of the enemy Forward Operating Bases. When we reached the hill and set up overwatch in the foliage, I saw a large area covered by tents and prefabs. The OpFor FOB was well placed, with interlocking choke-points and artillery scattered about the area, which was quite a bright idea on their part – even if their self-propelled artillery pieces came under counter-battery fire they would have to be silenced separately, one by one. Unlike artillery in the 20th century, the Confederacy cannons did not have to be in close proximity to efficiently transfer firing coordinates and the Army used it to its advantage. It also seemed that the energy generators were similarly gathered in three different areas, to minimize the damage caused by either artillery bombardment or aerial assault. Their observation posts were all manned, but what astonished me was that the FOB did not seem to be in any state of vigilance. According to my and Aberswythe's calculations they must have already discovered that we silenced their small strongpoint. It meant that either it was all some elaborate trap, or the information pertaining to the assailed strongpoint had failed to reach the CO of the Forward Operating Base.

"What do you think, Sarge?" I asked Aberswythe quietly.

It was Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov who answered my question. She was lying a few meters away from me, furiously scanning her holo-tablet. It seemed like all radio traffic was coming and going from the FOB on open frequencies.

"Either they have a lunch break now or they haven't received new orders yet." Her accent was, believe it or not, American. With a Jewish-Christian first name, a Russian surname and a Yankee accent Sergeant Polyakov was the epitome of the Confederacy's cultural diversity. Of course, as their history differed from ours at many points in time, it might have been a normal occurrence.

"Their drones are not patrolling the area and all auto-turrets are offline. What the hell are these grunts thinking?" she was clearly upset and so was the rest of our patrol.

"Leave it be, Polyakov. The Army is not part of our chain of command." I said shortly. I paused for a moment and added with a vindictive smirk. "Don't worry Sergeant – I'm sure someone will get a good chewing for this clusterfuck."

I sighed. The decision was up to me – it would either make me or break me, but I had to choose now, while the FOB was still oblivious to our infiltration attempt. Even if it was some sort of elaborate trap concocted by the Opposing Force, I had no way to verify it. I made a quick decision and said quietly.

"Call in our QRF, Trang. Tell them to hit the FOBs with everything they've got. Advise that we're laser-painting targets for smart munitions and air support."

Aberswythe deployed our team into firing positions. We didn't have any indirect fire weaponry like mortars with us – External Affairs Bureau assigned them to reinforced platoons not squads – but some personnel were issued with barrel mounted grenade launchers for a little extra firepower. Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov and Sergeant Major Aberswythe to be specific. They could be used to harass and disorganise the enemy, giving our QRF chance to deliver some heavy blows. We'd have both automatic rifleman give flanking fire, while designated marksman – which meant Freeman – could take time to find and eliminate any troublesome personnel. Trang and Fahri would use their drones to paint targets for the artillery support, while Polyakov would keep the uplink open and transfer live data to our command centre.

It took exactly three minutes for the first fighter-bombers to make their presence known. We heard the supersonic boom of the approaching aircraft and we noticed first signs of commotion in the OpFor FOB. I gave short order to Aberswythe and Polyakov.

"Sergeants, fire for effect!" I didn't bother with whispering anymore.

Both sergeants aimed their grenade launchers up into the air, almost like the barrel of a mortar – we already had the distance calculated. The 40 mike-mike training rounds arced through the air toward the machine and exploded in smoke. The targeted generator went into immediate lockdown and overseeing AIs calculated that two other vehicles that were parked next to it took damage as well. Our automatic riflemen fired in sustained bursts in an effective attempt to suppress the grouped soldiers in the FOB, who belatedly tried to activate their automatic defences. It was all for naught as Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov had already hacked into their command system and disabled auto-turrets and drones.

Meanwhile, we tried to take shots at OpFor soldiers below, but they hid in their strongpoints and bunkers and returned indirect fire. They were unable to fully locate us, since Polyakov had taken the time to scramble their comms, but they could pinpoint us on the hill due to visible tracer rounds from our light machineguns.

Both drone operators kept using their drones to paint targets, but they were losing them at staggering rate – the Confederate Army FOB might have been taken by surprise, but the soldiers were neither incompetent nor cowardly. I heard a short curse from Kowalski, and his suit went into a semi-lockdown. My HUD displayed a warning that he was shot through his arm and it was to be considered severed until the training exercise was concluded. As friendlies were already streaming in in force and the gunships were dropping our men at the edge of the clearing I decided it was time to move our patrol forward and join the attacking force. Not to mention the fact that we had just thumbed our noses at the FOB's artillery operators, who would no doubt be dialling in our position with some heavy ordinance.

I signalled Aberswythe to take the Wildcats forward.

"Let's get out of here Sergeant! They'll have this place lit up in no time!"

"Where to, el-tee?" Aberswythe responded evenly.

"Link up with friendlies to the North-East! I'm getting Kowalski!"

"Roger that, out." Hearing Aberswythe I cursed silently. I really needed to work on my communications discipline.

Our patrol bounded forwards by teams, keeping sustained fire on the OpFor. In the mean time I half-crawled, half-run toward the cursing Kowalski. I attached his light machinegun to the back of my Interceptor armour and grabbed his 'healthy' arm. I swung it around my neck and picked him up. Kowalski's suit was actively impeding his ability to walk, simulating semi-cauterized injury and pain, but it did not impede his ability to talk in the slightest. I took out my PDW and held it in my hand, whilst dragging the cursing automatic rifleman toward friendly troops.

"Friendlies coming through, South-South-West!" I heard Corporal Trang yell out loudly. We were running like mad toward the friendlies who were occupying the field near the FOB. I joined our comms with the rest of the friendly force. They were working on establishing a proper firing line as more and more gunships flew in, dropping soldiers and heavy equipment, which immediately advanced into the battle.

We dealt some heavy blows to the FOB during our initial assault, but it was far from over. I dropped Kowalski with some paramedics from other unit, marked him on my Pathfinder map so I could find him later, and motioned our squad to move forward.

Behind us, I heard the unmistakable squeal of mortar rounds soaring out of the clouds and blowing the ever-loving hell out of the hill we had been using as our overwatch position.

The time for the stealthy approach was definitely over, so we joined one of the assaulting units on their right flank and adjusted our tactics to theirs.

"This is 2nd Lieutenant Dubois, Wildcats patrol; covering your three o'clock. Where do you want us?"

I saw one of the armoured troops turn my way and indicate with his hand – 'move forward/fire and advance'.

"This is Major Vriedlander, 1st Assault Battalion, 122nd Sustainment Brigade. Take the right flank and put pressure on them. Heavies are on their way, lieutenant."

"Sustainment Brigade? What is the field kitchen doing here?" asked someone from my team. I recognized Espera – he had a very liberal approach to military conventions, which was one of the reasons he enlisted with Security Branch, not with the Army.

"Beats me," answered one of the Sustainment Brigade troopers. "Probably someone in command messed up the orders, as usual."

I decided to end this conversation before some inane debate started.

"You have your boots and your gun, soldier! You're good to go!" I said sharply.

Yes, gentlemen – have some Gunny Highway words of wisdom. 'Heartbreak Ridge' was a pretty good film as far as the '80s films go and Clint Eastwood in the starring role was just a cherry on top. Clint Eastwood is the Man. With a larger than life capital 'M'.

"Hey, is it the ass-slapping guy?" I heard someone from Assault Battalion ask incredulously.

Heavens, does everyone on this god-forsaken planet know of me? I looked at Specialist Fahri, but she just giggled. Perhaps it was her, who needed some ass-slapping – I thought grimly, but with a hint of amusement. This WAS pretty funny after all.

But I had no time to ponder, as we once again bounded up by teams to slowly approach the first trenches of the FOB. The enemy fire was slowly withering away, due to our air superiority. I jumped behind the H-Barriers and made a beeline to the first strongpoint I could see. We stacked up with Dessalines by the door. I nodded and he kicked it down, entering the building in force.

We only saw two men lying on a pile of boxes in locked up suits of armour. One of them raised his hand and showed us a middle finger. I snickered at that and yelled out, "Clear!"

Before we could move further inside the base, one of the Navy cruisers materialized through a wormhole, its large form hovering above FOB, glistening with laser cannons and heavy plasma-coilguns. This was enough of an unspoken ultimatum for the troops still inside the FOB, and they started broadcasting the surrender message. All throughout the compound, OpFor troops laid down their weapons and knelt with their hands behind their heads.

The battle was finally over. I left the strongpoint and sat down on one of the sandbags, my previous nervousness catching up with me. Everything had happened too quickly for me to worry and I could only react and fall back to my training, but now I felt the full weight of the events of the past few hours. I took off my helmet with shaking hands and looked at the blue sky, outlining the cruiser far above.

Our training weapons didn't even have a fraction of power of the real thing. Had we used proper weaponry during this exercise, most of the base would have been burned to the ground. Had OpFor used real weapons, Kowalski would have lost his arm and maybe his life as well.

Christ Almighty, because of my own blunders and my inexperience I nearly had a man killed!

I heard someone approach me from behind and I turned around to see who it was. I saw the smiling face of Sergeant Major Aberswythe, which surprised me as the man was usually very serious. He patted me on the arm.

"You did well, son. I have no doubt that you are good enough to be an officer. Maker knows that some people got their commissions on shakier ground in the past."

"I don't know Sergeant. My decisions nearly got Kowalski killed."

Aberswythe shook his head at my self-flagellation.

"Bullshit, el-tee. Kowalski forgot to move his firing position after three bursts, as the regulations say. He got too caught up in the fight and caught a bullet himself. He will learn that lesson for the next time."

I smiled at him and stood up to shake his hand.

"Thank you Sergeant, for being here. We'd all be dead if not for you."

Aberswythe shook my hand and pointed at the waiting Wildcat patrol, saying, "Nonsense, you would have all done well. You still need to give a debriefing, el-tee."

The boys and girls were standing together, loudly recounting their battle from moments ago and suddenly I felt like I wasn't watching trained fighters at all, but a couple of unruly kindergarten children. Freeman produced two of his model air-cars from somewhere and was recreating the approach of two of the Fulcrum gunships, while Trang loudly corrected him on that.

Aberswythe and I marched together toward the standing Wildcats. To my relief, Kowalski was with them. Apparently when the exercise was concluded his suit was automatically unlocked and he was allowed to rejoin us. Thankfully I didn't have to go and look for him in this ruckus.

And what a ruckus it was. We had elements of our 213th Infiltration Brigade from the External Affairs Bureau as well as 49th Independent Orbital Assault Battalion, 15th Motor-Rifle Brigade and 4th Armored Battalion from the Confederate Army. You could also see grey-blue armours of Marine Detachment from cruiser CSS Ballistic, which did a wormhole jump at the end of the exercise and for some strange reason the assault battalions of the previously met 122nd Sustainment Brigade. The latter (jokingly called field kitchen, by Espera), as we correctly suspected, apparently received wrong marching orders – another sign of bureaucratic mess, typical for the Confederacy. And those were just units from our side of the exercise – OpFor had to reorganize and return their own detachments back to their deployment zones. It seemed like the war we played was just an organized chaos.

"Okay people, atten-shun! El-tee has a few words to say!" shouted Aberswythe sharply.

As if he had waved a magic wand, the whole squad stood at parade rest, ready to be debriefed. They still looked proud and satisfied, though. I cleared my throat and said.

"Thank you all for taking part in the Lightning Rod war games. I am proud to say that Wildcat patrol did their job, and continued well beyond our original mission parameters. You have all displayed exceptional skill, audacity and precision. Good work everyone!"

I looked at Kyle Espera and said.

"Espera, next time please keep your comments to yourself, or at least wait until we're no longer under fire. We all know that REMFs were not supposed to be there, but during the op it's not our problem."

The automatic rifleman stood at attention, "You've got it, el-tee."

I turned to Kowalski and decided to quote Aberswythe.

"Kowalski, you forgot to move your firing position after three bursts and the enemy was able to pinpoint your location and target it. You were wounded and our squad lost much needed firepower. It can't happen again. We cannot afford such losses."

Kowalski looked only slightly repentant, but he replied obediently.

"Won't happen again, el-tee."

"See that it doesn't," I conceded. There was one more thing to discuss, though.

I looked at Specialist Salmia Fahri and sighed, but I couldn't keep my face straight.

"Fahri, the rumours about me going around the camp slapping female bottoms must end. Else I might slap yours for good measure," I added with a mock-seriousness.

Whole squad laughed at that and the atmosphere visibly relaxed. Fahri looked suitably chastened.

"Roger that, el-tee."

I stood at attention and addressed the whole team.

"Alright everyone, we did one hell of a good job. I won't be keeping you here any longer, so go grab some chow and get your R&amp;R. Wildcat patrol, dismissed!"

* * *

The squad scattered and went about their business. As the exercise was officially over now, I wanted to remove the lieutenant's chevrons from my collar and armour. I sought to enlist Aberswythe's help with that, as he was the one who presented me with the temporary rank, but he was nowhere to be found. I noticed a transport shuttle landing in the distance. It stopped at one of the concrete landing sites and two people left the cargo compartment. Both of them wore the grey fatigues of the Security Branch and I recognized Major Sharpe and Colonel van Koolwijk who arrived, as I presumed, to debrief me about my performance during the patrol. There was no sign of Galtieri, but I knew that he was with the staff, overseeing the redeployment of the units which took part in the exercise.

I met them halfway and gave a quick salute. Major Sharpe eyed me and said, "We've been observing your progress during exercise Lightning Rod and reviewed the footage from your squads helmet cameras. Your command of the Wildcat patrol was exemplary and you went above and beyond to fulfil your mission. While there were few minor hiccups, nothing of it was worth mentioning in the official report. Good work, lieutenant!"

"Thank you, sir. It means a lot coming from you," I admitted. "Where do I return my officer chevrons, sir? They were given to me by Sergeant Major Aberswythe, but I couldn't find him."

Sharpe and van Koolwijk exchanged quick glances and Patricia said.

"About that, lieutenant – we've had a lengthy discussion with General Anjou concerning your performance. Be advised that you have passed the standard military tests you took last week. For this reason it was decided that you will keep your current rank of 2nd Lieutenant for the duration of your training. You have repeatedly displayed skill and resourcefulness, a necessity for the responsibilities of rank, so congratulations on your promotion, lieutenant. Your actions will be reviewed further by a selected committee once the war games are concluded, and they will have the final say upon whether you'll keep your new rank or not."

Wow! I must admit that I did not expect that. It's been what – two weeks of training? Of course, I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I just nodded and said.

"Thank you, sir, ma'am."

Sharpe added, "We understand that it is sudden and that it's not the proper procedure, but I am certain that you will prove us right."

He looked at the FOB where the Army soldiers and Security Branch agents were still cleaning up the detritus of our mock-battle. "You certainly have the military part of the training done to a T. I loath to admit it, but we've greatly abused the knowledge transfer procedure with you in the past two weeks. It certainly helped with speeding up your training, as we've managed to pass you at least ten months' worth of data, but we don't know how it might have effected your mental state. Because of that you are scheduled to meet with Dr. Koeckritz, so she could run a full mental examination and determine your health. You can take some time to rest and recuperate and in the next two hours you will take a shuttle to Interactive Dislocation Department's Alsmoor facility, near Port Helix. Leave your equipment here – it will be taken back to the armoury with the rest of our battalion."

He saluted me and I returned the honours.

"I will go now to review the performance of the elements of our brigade. After its done Colonel van Koolwijk will contact you to advise whether you will keep your new rank," Said Major Sharpe and he added after a moment of thought. "The Battalion is proud to have you, lieutenant. I know I am."

At this moment I felt like I could take on the world.

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

Sharpe left me and Patricia van Koolwijk just standing there in the middle of the field. She looked at me.

"I'm glad you're moving upwards in the firm, lieutenant. You're a good soldier and a good man – perhaps a bit too good of a man to be an effective agent," She added with a smile.

"It's simple in combat ma'am – just find the enemy and shoot them up. But on an espionage mission it's different. The lines between right and wrong become blurry." I said, remembering when she told me about using my body to get Intel I need. I still wasn't comfortable with that.

We started walking toward the FOB, where the Pathfinder app showed my fatigues to be – the 3rd Battalion brought most of our equipment here, before we will be relocated back to Camp Bravo Two. I wanted to take a shower before I went to see Anneke at the IDD complex. After almost two days in the woods I felt dirty and smelly in my armour – thank god it was sealed tight, otherwise I'd be a walking biological hazard.

Patricia didn't seem to mind me being in the armour, as she hooked her arm with mine.

"So, you will be meeting your shrink in two hours, lieutenant. Have you got time to grab a cup of coffee with me?"

I looked at her and said with a smile.

"Do I grab some coffee with Patricia or with Colonel van Koolwijk, ma'am?"

"Does it matter, lieutenant?"

"It matters to me. Never confuse a person with a rank, ma'am."

She laughed at my obstinacy and finally answered, "Let's go for a coffee, Peter. You still have two hours before your shuttle leaves."

"Patricia it is. It would be my pleasure."

I went to get a quick shower and shave. It would be unseemly to visit the outside world in the uniform of Security Branch poorly groomed – one of the lessons I learned from Galtieri. External Affairs Bureau agents were always expected to be perfectly groomed and composed when dealing with civilians.

When I was done with the wash I grabbed some coffee from the field kitchens with Patricia – apparently the logistics part of the Sustainment Brigade decided to join us. Someone had to feed all these people after all and it might as well be this jet-propelled, guided NAAFI. We left the FOB once again and took a seat on one of the hills overlooking it. We sat there sipping our drinks, and in that moment everything felt good, and I had not a care in the world.

The Forward Operations Base was a hive of activity – officers were still working through their debriefings, command centre were having their AIs run an analysis of the whole operation, transport shuttles were coming and going and one of the corvettes had technical problem so repair service robots were mobbing it, looking for the failure in the system. The Corvette had to land in the field, so it looked like a beached whale with the naval servicemen and marines surrounding it like a pack of hungry wolves. We just had some light conversation about nothing in particular, when she said, "There is something I want to ask you, Peter," She looked serious.

"Sure, go ahead."

"I was told that during the briefing before the war games, you said that you don't care if you died when deployed."

I sighed inwardly; time for the heart to heart, eh?

"That's true." What was here for me? I didn't have any friends or family, just colleagues from work. I wanted to do the right thing for the Mass Effect Galaxy, but it was just my job. If I happened to die, nobody would care.

"It's a very dangerous attitude to take. You may take greater risks and that might alter the ultimate outcome of your mission."

"Isn't that how it always goes? Our choices affect the result – cause and effect."

"You know what I mean, Peter. We don't want you to die."

"Believe me – I don't want to die either, Patricia. I want to accomplish my mission with minimal loss of life. But if I happen to die, I will have no regrets and I doubt anyone would care."

"I would care, you know?"

"Come on, you barely know me," I said, waving my hand in dismissal. We had sex once – that didn't mean we were married. Still, she insisted.

"I stand by my word. You're a good man, Peter."

"I am who I am, and I do what I can. Don't worry; I will do my best not to die," I said, amused.

She snickered and said, "I guess that's the best I can hope for."

An alarm flashed on my wrist-comp. The shuttle was getting ready to leave and they were hailing me to come aboard. I gave Patricia a light peck on the lips and got up to walk to the shuttle. She grabbed my hand and said.

"Just promise me, you will talk to the IDD shrink."

I looked down at her exasperated and rolled my eyes.

"I promise I will talk to the shrink, that's why I'm going to Alsmoor in the first place. Now I really have to go, or I will be walking to Port Helix."

We exchanged quick goodbyes and I left her on the hillside.

END OF CHAPTER 4

**A/N: Here is the Chapter 4. It had a bit more action to it as I really wanted to try my hand at writing the battle scenes. I sincerly hope that you enjoyed it.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	9. Chapter 5 - Forging The Bonds, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the first part of Chapter 5 of Multiverse Effect, for your enjoyment. This one is pushing about 6k words. Feel free to comment - your feedback as readers is as always very appreciated even if it's critical of the work. It helps me improve as a writer, even if sometimes it is rather bitter pill to swallow. :) **

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Forging The Bonds**

_Most people do not really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened of responsibility._

_Sigmund Freud_

* * *

The flight to the city was uneventful. I boarded the cargo shuttle taking equipment from the military exercise area back to one of the army warehouses in Port Helix. I talked the pilots into letting me sit in the crew cabin and I even convinced them to let my fly the shuttle for a few minutes – admittedly, such behaviour was more befitting of a kid in Disneyland, than a soon to be covert agent. It was exacerbated by the fact that the craft lost altitude by a few hundred feet rather rapidly, before the pilot managed to get back behind the controls. I apologised profusely for my incompetence, but the pilots didn't seem to mind as they actually found my bumbling attempts at flying pretty funny.

In no time we landed in the building occupied by Security Branch. I left the building immediately after checking in with the clerks and from there I hailed the hover-taxi, which took me to the Interactive Dislocation Department's Alsmoor facility. It was located far away from the city for security reasons, so I had to pay an exorbitant amount of money for my journey. A quick call however, confirmed that I would be reimbursed for it. It was good, because I definitely didn't feel like paying for the travels that I was ordered to do by my superiors.

Last time I was in the IDD complex I was still frightened and overwhelmed by the whole dimension hopping business, but now, more than two weeks later, I felt confident and calm. Thanks to my training so far I immediately took notice of how lax the security in the building was. When I tried to check in with the security guard at the gate, he just waved me in without looking up from his video game. Shaking my head in disbelief I came up to the reception area and sat there waiting for someone to take interest in me and direct me to Dr. Koeckritz. No such luck, of course – people who passed through the reception area barely paid me any attention. The Security Branch uniform and the sidearm that I carried with me everywhere nowadays raised some eyebrows, but no one bothered to come up and ask for my identification papers. To top it all, the receptionist was absent from her usual spot, so I had no one to ask for directions.

Finally fed up with the long wait, I got up and stopped the first person I could find in the ugly grey overalls that all IDD personnel wore. It turned out to be a pretty (here's a surprise, bet you didn't expect that) and tall blonde who walked through one of the corridors. She typed something on her wrist-comp (it was definitely smaller than our Omni-tool-like devices) and wore glasses with a headset that displayed diagrams of some sort. She was talking through the aforementioned device with considerable force.

"Yes Michael, that's what we're going to do. If the Finance Department doesn't like it, they can bring it up with the boss. We need more funding and we need it now!"

I patted her on the arm. She gave me an exasperated glare and spoke again to the person on the other end of the line.

"I'll call you back, Michael. Some military jock is bothering me."

She took her headset off and asked in an irritated voice.

"Can I help you, sir? I'm in the middle of a very important experiment for our Research and Development department, not that you would know anything about it." She gave me a disdainful look.

I almost snickered at that. Was she doing the haughty scientist routine? And she claimed to be 'in the middle of the experiment'. That was rich, especially since she was traipsing around the facility gossiping on the phone. I was too amused by her clichéd reaction to even be offended. I decided to play along for a moment and have little fun, while we were at it. I adopted the stereotypical country boy accent and said.

"I dunno nuffin' 'bout no experiments, missus. They's jus' payin' me to shoot stuff y'know. They's told me to come here 'n' talk to head doctor. Got hit in th' head real hard y'know?" I pointed at my blue beret and shrugged. "Got trouble talkin' a lil' now."

I was laying it really thick, but she seemed to buy my little performance. She looked up at the ceiling and her eyes seemed to say: 'God, why me?' She sighed heavily and looked back at me with a pained expression.

"Look, if you were injured in training you should be in the military hospital, not here."

I pointed at her with the dumbest expression I could muster. It was really hard to keep from laughing now.

"Bu' you're a doctor, ain' chu? Call du' head doctor and they 'an give me pills fo' my head."

She started protesting.

"Look, I'm not a medical doctor…" she noticed my uncomprehending face and stopped.

She seemed desperate to leave, but her sense of moral duty must have prevailed. She looked like someone about to be executed, but she forced a smile nevertheless and asked me.

"Can you tell me the name of your doctor, so I could find him for you?"

I nodded dumbly and fumbled with my wrist-comp. I made a show of pressing some random icons, before I called up Dr. Koeckritz's contact details. I presented it to her proudly, holding it upside-down. She looked at the details and tried to decipher them. Squinting her eyes and finally recognizing the name, the unknowing victim typed something into her own wrist-comp. She looked back to my dumb expression and said.

"Please wait here. I will call your doctor."

She left the reception mumbling something about irresponsible caretakers leaving disabled men to fend for themselves.

When she was out of hearing distance, I couldn't hold it anymore and I started to laugh. It was a stupid and childish prank, but it was fun to do anyway.

So I waited in the reception area reclining comfortably at one of the couches. I waited for the lady to come back with Anneke. After five minutes or so I heard loud voices approaching. I recognized the woman from before talking to my good doctor.

"I don't know what the Army is doing, Anneke. They have their own hospitals, yet they saw it fit to leave a mentally disabled serviceman here, all alone. I wouldn't be surprised if he was actually brain damaged. I wonder though, where he got your contact details."

They entered the reception from one of the hallways. The female from before was walking with Anneke and she pointed me out. Dr. Koeckritz recognized me instantly and gave an exasperated sigh.

"That's alright, Silvia. He is a displaced person and he's not mentally disabled. Though sometimes I have my doubts."

Extricating myself from the couch, I approached them with a smile.

"It's good to see you again, Dr. Koeckritz." I nodded at her stunned companion politely and said, "Thank you for bringing Anneke here. I wouldn't have been able to find her without you, ma'am."

By then, Silvia recovered from her shock and looked ready to explode. She pointed at my face and said coldly.

"I don't know what games are you playing, sir. That is not an acceptable behaviour."

Anneke decided to intervene before it escalated out of control.

"I apologize for my friends' immature behaviour. He sometimes forgets that not everyone enjoys his schoolyard humour," She said in a placating manner, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Deciding that enough was enough I bowed slightly to Silvia and said.

"I'm sorry for that. I really meant no harm and it wasn't even that funny," I lied, "Perhaps I could invite you for a coffee sometime as an apology?" I enjoyed playing games with people, but if I saw that they were clearly unhappy or uncomfortable with it I always apologized. Call it my instinct of self-preservation.

Silvia seemed pacified by my apology. She gave me a small but tight smile and extended her hand.

"Silvia Pereira, Research and Development, Interactive Dislocation Department."

I shook her hand and returned, "Lieutenant Peter Dubois, External Affairs Bureau, Security Branch. My offer still stands."

She laughed at me and gave me a subtle once-over.

"I'll see you around, lieutenant. Have a good day, Annie!" she waved at us and left, putting her headset back on and calling one of her co-workers to resume her 'important experiments'.

Meanwhile, Anneke looked at me appraisingly, "You look good in uniform, Peter." She started walking and indicated that I follow her. "How is Security Branch treating you?"

"It's all good. Apparently we abused data-transfers a little and now you need to examine me to see if I'm alright. How are you guys doing?"

We walked toward the familiar mess hall and we sat down at one of the tables. An Automaton glided toward us and passed the coffee and some cookies. Anneke picked up some chocolate-chip cookies and put it on her plate. I added some milk to my coffee and took a sip. It was strange – I barely drank any coffee back on Earth and here I was drinking it every day. Perhaps my body was compensating for the lack of beer lately?

Anneke smiled at me, "We've been alright so far. I've been forwarded another project in the meantime, but I have enough time to be doing your psych evaluation as well. The guys are on holiday. Christiansen went home to laze around and Gillespie went to a skiing trip if I recall correctly. Vassilevskiy is a workaholic, so he's probably freelancing."

"Freelancing?" I could hardly imagine what kind of freelancing work a geneticist could do. As far as I knew from my readings, genome research and all applications of it were one of the very few things that Confederacy government had full monopoly on. This was especially true after a couple of spectacular corporate blunders a decade or so ago, which forced the government to crack down hard on illegal research labs.

Anneke noticed my dumbfounded expression and explained.

"He is not freelancing as a researcher. He's a security consultant for Nebular Dynamics, a large corporation dealing with terraforming. I'm not sure what he's doing there, but it must have something to do with his previous work with Security Branch."

I nodded at that and said jokingly, "You know us, dark and mysterious types from External Affairs Bureau. Always plotting and scheming."

"I know. You're getting kicks from keeping us - the poor, dumb civilians – ignorant. It's all for our own good, of course!"

We shared a hearty laugh at that and talked some more about other mundane topics as we munched on the cookies and drank our lattes.

When we were done with the coffee, Anneke asked me to follow her for my examination. I was actually quite curious why she of all people had to do it. I would expect that either the Army or Security Branch to have their own psychologists to deal with any mental problems that servicemen might develop.

I asked Anneke as we walked. "It's a different procedure for displaced people. The IDD must keep tabs on you, until you receive your final body, to make sure that you're adjusting properly."

So we went to one of the office rooms. To my relief it wasn't the retro futuristic interrogation room, where we had our first conversation when I woke up. As we walked through the corridors of the Interactive Dislocation Department facility I felt a wave of nostalgia – we only first met two weeks ago, but it felt more like a year now. The data-transfers are very useful, but they really screw up your perception of time.

The room was just a small recreational area with two comfortable armchairs, a small table and a couch by the wall. There were no windows or mirrors, but some poor soul added two of the ubiquitous potted plants to liven up the space a little. I took of my beret, put it under my shoulder strap and looked at Anneke with a smile.

"So, can I sit in a chair or do we go for the couch straight away, doctor?"

Only after saying it did I catch the unintentional double-entendre. Anneke blushed slightly, but soldiered on.

"You didn't even buy me a dinner, so let's take the chairs."

As we sat, she took out her holo-tablet and checked her notes. I waited patiently as she scanned the contents of the document. Finally, she put her tablet away.

"Major Sharpe told me that you've been using knowledge transfers a lot in the course of your training."

"That is correct," I answered shortly.

"Have you noticed them having any adverse effects on your body?"

"Not that I can think of. I sometimes feel tired after few transfers in a day, but that's about it."

Anneke checked something in her notes.

"I was advised that data-transfers are painful for your body?"

I winced at the memory of the excruciating pain and the feeling of a metal hand clamping over my throat. I was getting used to the pain associated with knowledge transfer, but it wasn't getting any better.

I decided to be curt about it, as I didn't want to sound like a whiny brat.

"That is correct."

"And yet your trainers never saw it fit to limit the amount of transfers you receive?"

"We haven't got time for that, doc. We have measly three months for me to reach some level of competence before my deployment. There is no other way."

Dr. Koeckritz exhaled with irritation.

"I strongly recommend that you limit the number of transfer per day. I will put it in your file and pass it to Captain Galtieri."

I looked at her surprised and alarmed. My surprise turned into anger.

"You can't do that! I won't make it in three months without the knowledge transfers!" I shouted.

"Peter, you have terrible pains each time a transfer is done," She said quietly, but firmly.

"They're just phantom pains. Nothing I can't handle," I snarled.

She looked at me with barely concealed concern.

"Yes, your body can handle that, but what about your mind? It's not just your feelings of tiredness. What about these mood swings?"

"What are you talking about, doc? My conduct so far has been exemplary." I said coldly.

Anneke shook her head, sticking to her guns, "Listen to yourself, Peter. The pains caused by data transfer along with the amount of information you receive are wearing you down. One moment you're laughing, then flirting and the next you're ready to tear my head off. That is not normal behaviour."

She had a point, even though I didn't like it.

"Alright, I might be stressed out a little," I conceded, "But that's just because it was the first time I was leading people in a combat situation. I have right to be apprehensive at times."

As an afterthought, I held up a singular digit to illustrate a point, "And might I add that while it had all the grace and dramatic timing that people have come to expect from me, my double-entendre in regards to the couch was completely unintentional."

I leaned back in the armchair and pressed my hands to my face. I stayed in this position for a moment then I straightened up and looked at Anneke with a serious expression.

"I need these data transfers. I'm going to be deployed in Mass Effect Universe against the Reapers with minimal training and preparation. I need every little piece of data to run operations against them and other powers in the galaxy. If you limit my data transfers you will be killing me in the long run."

I was being a little dramatic, but I felt it was within my rights. She would be staying here, while I was going to have my internal (and possibly external) organs liquefied by Reapers and god knows what else. But Anneke remained unconvinced.

"If I let you continue as you are now, you will kill yourself. I'm trying to help you, Peter! Work with me, please," she added.

"I know you want to help, but I need this knowledge."

I put my hand on hers and said with all the confidence I could muster.

"I can handle that, doc. I won't be going crazy anytime soon."

I paused for a moment, thinking of a way to convince her. I decided it would be best to change the topic, so I said with a lecherous grin, gently massaging her hand.

"Besides, I can think of a few things we can do to relieve my stress."

She slapped my hand away, but I could see that she was smiling again.

"You're cute, but I'm happily married thank you very much. Besides, that would be violating doctor-patient relationship."

"So if I wasn't your patient we would have taken the couch?" I asked, still grinning.

"Nope," Anneke said.

"You're breaking my heart, doc!" I responded trying and failing to look hurt.

She answered in a deadpan tone, which was reminiscent of our first meeting.

"My scientific experiments determined that you do not have a heart, Lieutenant Dubois. In its stead you possess a black hole which sucks all the happy feelings from its vicinity."

"Harsh," I said with a smile.

"The truth usually is," She said in the same deadpan voice. After a moment she added awkwardly, "It was just a joke, you know."

I laughed at that and got up.

"If it wasn't I wouldn't be laughing. Are we done here, doc?"

She looked up at me and said with a guarded expression.

"There is one more thing, Peter."

I sat back down and motioned at her to continue. It was bound to be good.

"Sergeant Major Aberswythe reported that you said during your briefing two days ago and I quote: 'I don't care if I die'. Is it really how you feel about your situation, lieutenant?"

I crossed my legs and sighed. I really didn't want to talk about it, but she was my shrink. I answered her question with a question of my own.

"What do you expect me to say, doc? That I'm all chill with the fact that you took me from home and from the people I loved?"

I stood up and started pacing around the room, no longer capable of calmly sitting down. It was as if all my feelings of resentment, carefully bottled up until now, were pouring out of me in a flow that I couldn't stop.

"I'm not some monkey you can put in a golden cage and give me toys to play with. I'm a fucking human being, doc," I was cursing, but it lacked its usual vitriol. My tone of voice sounded simply tired.

That's how I felt – tired. I was tired of everything: the people, who weren't my people, this country that wasn't my country and this mission in a bloody fictional universe, which will most likely kill me. And nobody would know, nobody would care – I will be just another name (not even my real name!) put through a freaking meat-grinder. I felt so conflicted about everything, that I didn't know what to do with myself. I stopped pacing and stood by the wall, with my arms folded.

Anneke stood up and walked up to me. She put her hands on my shoulders, while I fought off a wave of nausea.

"We had no idea that you felt like this, Peter."

I looked at her and said.

"Look, forget what I said. It's nice here – I admit. And I appreciate that I'm learning so many new things. I will do my mission, because I already agreed to do it. I'm even excited for that. But I can't forget and I can't forgive the way you brought me here, Anneke."

"That's the standard procedure, Peter."

"Then the standard procedure is wrong. Why didn't you just ask me? I would have agreed."

I shook my head, "Jesus, of course I would have agreed. You could just spin a tale about saving the galaxy and I probably would have gone with you."

She smiled at me sadly.

"You wouldn't, Peter. You wouldn't have left your family, especially not to save a fictional galaxy."

I sighed and nodded at her.

"No, I probably wouldn't have. But it doesn't make it alright, you know?"

I actually felt much better. It was good to finally have someone to tell what I thought deep down. I couldn't really confide in Galtieri or Sharpe, because they were my superiors. Both of them were distinguished operators and I freely admit that I was in awe of their achievements – complaining to them would make me feel even less capable and the same went for Aberswythe. I couldn't well talk about it with my fireteam, even with Specialist Fahri. They expected me to command them with confidence and skill and breaking down in front of them would be a failure of leadership. Anneke was the only person I had left with whom I could talk freely.

"No, it doesn't make it alright, Peter. But it doesn't make you a 'monkey in a golden cage', either. You've had enough data transfers to know that."

I laughed at that, seeing as knowledge transfers were the main point of contention so far.

"I guess you're right. It's just my own insecurities catching up with me. Perhaps we can ease with the transfers for the weekend? That way I can still learn at faster pace, while having two days to recuperate."

She nodded seriously, again all business-like.

"That's reasonable – I will pass this recommendation to Captain Galtieri."

I gave her a quick hug and said awkwardly.

"Thanks for listening to my rant, doc."

She smiled and patted my shoulder.

"Just remember that we are here for you and you will be fine, lieutenant" She paused and added quietly. "I know your family would be proud of you. And so would Erica."

"Thank you for saying that," I answered.

In truth, there was something else that I could have told her at that moment. A thought that might just terrify me more than the approaching mission into Mass Effect universe. I wasn't Peter Dubois. That had already been established. It was just a name given to me to ease my integration into my new responsibilities. But at the same time, did I really have a truly real name? My mind strayed back to what Anneke had told me when I first arrived here.

That I was a copy. The real Peter was with Erica right now, laughing, living his life. Both of them, completely unaware that there was a 'Peter Dubois' out there, green with envy at the thought of their happiness.

The thought that was worth a few sleepiness nights, could I really consider myself to be me?

I shrugged it off immediately. No, down that road led some serious issues, the likes of which would keep a normal shrink operating comfortable for years. I was me. I really had no-one else I could be.

Anneke and I shared a laugh as we left, and I made a point to make sure the laughter reached my eyes.

* * *

After our conversation Anneke declared me fit for duty. I would be coming to see her for my physical examination at later time.

The return from Alsmoor facility was anti-climactic. You remember these American films when the hero finally comes to terms with his situation and accepts it for what it is? I don't know why, but I expected some happy music playing in the background, birds chirping and a rainbow or two in the sky. Reality, as usual, struck me again with the force of a main battle tank. It was raining and I got soaking wet while waiting for the hover-taxi, which would take me back to the Security Branch landing pad.

When the hover-taxi finally came I asked the driver to take the scenic route. I wanted to take a look at this world, because I always loved travelling back on Earth. I wasn't in any hurry to go back to the base. Besides, it would all be a mess because of the war games and I wouldn't be having any classes or training anyway. Ever since my induction into the ranks of the Security Branch I've never had the time to just sit down and enjoy some down time. When I was on duty I was constantly reminded of the Reapers and the threat they presented, so I worked myself to a near exhaustion daily. But now, I decided to just take things slow and enjoy my leave.

As I sat in the passenger seat looking out of the window, I got a video-call on my wrist-comp from Patricia van Koolwijk asking how my therapy went. I was grateful for her interest and happy that she called. Her light sense of humour was exactly what I needed right now.

"It was okay. Things got pretty emotional, but I have it under control now," I said, trying to sound tougher than I felt.

"Did you cry like a little girl, Peter?" she teased me with a wicked smile.

"I cried manly tears, Patricia. They only emphasized the internal strength of my character," I managed to say it with completely straight face.

She laughed at me and said, "Of course they did, Peter." Her amused expression defied her words.

Her tone turned serious and I recognized that we were back 'on the clock'.

"Our AIs have run a full analysis of your patrol, focusing on the decisions you had made during the course of your combat mission, lieutenant."

I was immediately curious as to what conclusions they have reached. During the patrol I was convinced that all choices I made were logical, but now I wasn't so sure. Maybe I should have called the whole thing off, when we took out the three-man strongpoint and intercepted OpFor data? We exceeded our original mission parameters by a large margin and it was pure dumb luck that only Kowalski was 'wounded'. Perhaps my first mission as a commander wasn't the best time to show off such initiative.

"Your conduct of the patrol received good marks overall. Maintaining a stealthy approach allowed you to acquire Intel, which helped the friendly forces a great deal in achieving a tactical victory."

"The plan on taking the strongpoint was Sergeant Aberswythe's idea. I merely executed it to the best of my abilities, ma'am." I wasn't about to allow anyone praise me for someone else's work. I always considered taking credit for something you haven't done yourself to be the lowest and scummiest thing to do.

"You would be surprised how many ranking officers would not heed the SNCO's suggestion on principle, lieutenant. We are satisfied with your decision to put your trust in an experienced subordinate and we would like to encourage such behaviour in the future."

Well, of course I would do it again. That was the whole reason why junior Security Branch officers were placed with experienced NCOs after all. You would have to be dumb to refuse a good idea just because the person who suggested it is technically your subordinate. If there were officers who behaved like that in the field I would be very surprised if they got anything done.

"The only point of contention was your decision to continue with the patrol once the Intel had been acquired. Some officers argued that once you received the data it would have been prudent to call the mission to an end rather than risk an exposure to the Opposing Force. Had you been caught it would have rendered acquired intelligence useless. Other officers argued in your favour. What was your reasoning behind the choice that you had made, lieutenant?"

I had been replaying the combat operation in my mind since it was over and I had been preparing for the questioning of my decisions. I hoped that I would be able to present a good case, otherwise I will be the shortest serving lieutenant in the history of the Security Branch. I knew now that both Captain Galtieri and Major Sharpe were championing for my promotion, but if it was decided that my reasons weren't sound I will be degraded back to officer cadet. I don't think I'd be able to live with such shame.

So I responded to Colonel van Koolwijk's question without any hesitation.

"Yes, ma'am. I had considered ending the mission after acquiring the intelligence from the OpFor strongpoint. I decided against it as I deemed that our forces reaction time would not be sufficient before our infiltration was discovered, which would have resulted in the enemy changing plans. Instead, after consulting my senior NCO we had come to a conclusion that we can use the captured enemy plans to infiltrate the vicinity of their FOB and from there direct the assaulting force. We had been able to sabotage the OpFor automatic defences, which I admit wasn't as much due to our own skill as the enemies' lax security, but which also resulted in a reduction of casualties among the friendly forces to a significant degree. During our assault we sustained just one casualty from Wildcat's unit, which I consider to be an acceptable loss for the tactical victory we achieved. With the knowledge I currently possess concerning our combat situation at the time, my decisions would remain the same."

Colonel Patricia van Koolwijk looked at me with a serious expression.

"Lieutenant Dubois, please be aware that your statement will be going on the record."

"I stand by my statement, ma'am," I was taught that an officer must always show resolve to accept the consequences of his decisions. Even if it costs me my promotion I would not go back on my word. Perhaps it was not the most impressive trait for a spy, but we were talking about a training exercise after all. Whether that would also hold true for a real combat situation I couldn't say.

Colonel nodded her head and smiled at me and it wasn't the friendly, happy smile she usually gave me. It was a professional smile that a Human Resources employee gives you during your job interview.

I must admit here that I was both amazed and terrified how easy it was for the people from the Security Branch to keep their work life and private life separated. I'm sure that back on my Earth it would be considered at least a mild case of schizophrenia. With a grim realization I concluded that by the time my training was over I would be doing the same. I wasn't sure whether I liked where I was heading personality-wise.

"That will be all for now, lieutenant. We will inform you of the committee's decision in due time. Enjoy your leave and have a nice day," said van Koolwijk and closed the video-call. That was it.

Our conversation really felt like a job interview, no joke. There was even a customary 'we will keep in touch with you, sir'. Frankly, I was pretty nervous about this whole situation, knowing that the fate of my promotion was on the line.

Suddenly I had an epiphany. All this conversation with Patricia was a sham. Major Sharpe acted like I was a lieutenant already and he confirmed that General Anjou gave his own go ahead. Captain Galtieri gave me a call few hours ago, congratulating on my promotion. They wouldn't have behaved in this fashion if my promotion wasn't a sure thing. What the Security Branch was doing now, was just another test. They wanted to see whether I would sweat and agonize over some 'committee's' decision and perhaps have a nervous breakdown. In short – they wanted to make sure that they've made the right decision when they promoted me.

I smirked at my own thoughts – everything was part of the training. 'Trust no one' as Galtieri reminded me on a daily basis. When I was finally deployed in Mass Effect universe, I would be on my own. I won't have the luxury of taking any data at face value. I would be expected to keep a level head in any stressful situation, because it just might make a difference in a life or death situation. If I wasn't able to master my own fear even when faced with something of little value (like early promotion) then I had no business being in the field, commanding other people. 'Just because we stopped shooting, doesn't mean that the battle is over,' as said Colonel LeRoy Vatell, one of the Security Branch legendary operatives.

But my doubts returned with full force. What if I was wrong? Perhaps I was over-analysing everything once again and reaching all the wrong conclusions? I ceased that train of thought – what was done, was done. There was nothing I could do but wait.

My new line of work was giving me a headache. I haven't had time to unwind since the night I went with Patricia to the officer's lounge and we all know how that ended. Perhaps I could use the free time I had now to visit Port Helix once again. It was a city of three million souls located amongst the Confederate military bases. It was bound to have a pub-crawling area and a red-light district at least for the off-duty servicemen. Military cities and towns were business-oriented like that.

"Hey mate, take me to the city centre, would you please?" I asked the hover-taxi driver. He nodded at me without saying a word. He was probably used to driving drunk soldiers around the city.

When we reached Port Helix, he dropped me off at one of the luxurious boulevards. It was well-lit and the walkways were crowded with people. It was quite shocking to be here, seeing as not twenty four hours ago I was sleeping in my armour on the forest floor. But that was then and now I had some time for myself.

I'd already received my advance payment from Security Branch, so I decided that it was the best time to spend a little of it. The cab driver transferred some info to my wrist-comp concerning the nearest stores, pubs and hostels – everything I would require for the evening. I gave him a quick goodbye and melted into the evening crowd. I never noticed that the cab-driver, the moment he lost the sight of me started talking into a sub vocal transmitter he had concealed under his shirt.

"He's going in."

* * *

**A/N: So there it is. Someone targets our hapless field agent. What is going to happen to him? Stay tuned for the second part of Chapter 5 of Multiverse Effect.**

**To Anonymous Reviewer: I humbly accept the things you have pointed out, as many of them contain valid criticism. I tried to make original characters likeable and believable, but if I failed in this instance then I can only apologize. I mentioned in the very beginning that I treat this story mostly as a writing exercise for world-building and character creation for which the Mass Effect was most convenient platform. Not everyone will find this premise interesting - and that is perfectly alright. Anyway, it was good to have you so far. I will not delete your critical review, because you raise many valid points that I will try and address in the course of the story. I am still a beginner writer, but I know what interests me and the premise you mentioned sounds like another cookie-cutter Self Insert, which I simply didn't find appealing.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	10. Chapter 5 - Forging The Bonds, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: This is the second part of Chapter 5 of Multiverse Effect. This one is about 7k worlds long.**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

**WARNING: This part of the chapter contains a fairly graphic description of abuse sustained during a rather brutal interrogation. Readers' discretion is strongly advised. As I mentioned previously - this fanfic is rated M for a reason.**

* * *

The robotic shop assistants are probably the best investment a store owner could make. They don't need any bathroom breaks, they don't go for a smoke and they are always courteous, even when dealing with a troublesome customer. My personal artificial assistant was also very knowledgeable concerning the newest street fashion in the Confederacy core universes.

"Sir, please try these trousers on. They are considered cutting edge among the core worlds' elite."

I wouldn't describe the narrow slacks as cutting edge, or even bold for that matter. They seemed pretty generic, but if the price tag was anything to go by they might as well have been hand-made by Giorgio Armani himself.

But the robot was right, they fit me very well. I decided to take them, because I could pay in the store with vouchers I received from the Security Branch. After all, what good was a generous salary if you couldn't spend the money?

I left the store dressed in beige slacks with elegant brown jodhpurs. I wore a button-down, navy blue shirt and a leather Johnny Ramone jacket. Why would the Confederacy sell one of the classic motorcycle jackets from my Earth I had no idea, but it was relatively inexpensive. All in all, I felt like I was back home and meeting my friends on some weekend evening.

My helpful store assistant also arranged for my uniform to be returned to the Security Branch facility in Port Helix, from where they could deliver it back to Camp Bravo Two. After some deliberation I also decided to send back my sidearm and a small knife I always carried under my armpit. There was high probability that I would end up intoxicated, and having a firearm and a knife with me was just asking for trouble.

After my shopping spree I entered the nearest pub. It wasn't too fancy, but it wasn't a complete dump either. If I was back in Warsaw, I would place it somewhere in the middle – just one of those fairly affordable places where you could find university students in large numbers.

I sat at the bar and ordered a plain strong lager, feeling oddly nostalgic. Even though I was only gone for two weeks, it felt like years since I left my old life behind. Well, technically I didn't leave it at all – I was a clone after all. Behind the counter there was another robot – a place like this could have never afforded one of the high-end human bartenders. Despite that, he moved efficiently. He even had a mind to propose me a cigarette, which I took gladly.

Taking a drag of a strong tobacco stick and sipping my lager I tried to remember the topics that we usually discussed in the pubs when I was still at the university, but nothing seemed to come to my mind. I finished my first beer in what must have been record time and immediately ordered another one. I felt slight buzz in my head as I looked around the room.

The pub itself was a rather dark place. There was some non-intrusive electronic music playing in the background. The patrons either sat in metal chairs around small tables or at the long counter on high bar stools like I did. The metal stools with leather tops were not very comfortable, but they gave me an excuse to talk to other people at the counter. I noticed a girl sitting not too far away, who seemed to be completely engrossed in some video game she played on her wrist-comp. Her hair was dyed blue and seemed to be spiked with some sort of hair gel which allowed it to defy gravity. She wore some sort of futuristic punk attire with multiple zips, studs and magnetic attachments. Although some the attachments she had on her garments reminded me of refrigerator magnets, I admit that I liked her style.

"Hey, how are you?!" I shouted, trying to raise my voice above the buzz of the crowd.

She gave me a quick look and said.

"Fine, thanks."

Normally I would take the hint and get busy with my beer. That would happen if I was back in my own world, but I was still a bit shaken from my therapy with Dr. Koeckritz so I wouldn't be deterred by her dismissive manner.

"Can I buy you a beer?" I asked.

She took a longer look at me. Finally, after few tense seconds she simply shrugged and sat down on a bar stool next to mine.

"Sure, why not."

"Are you always that enthusiastic about everything?" I asked bluntly. I didn't particularly care what she would think of me, so I might as well say what's on my mind.

"Are you always this eager to stick your nose into someone else business?" She responded with a question of her own.

I snorted at that.

"It's just a beer. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me."

"No, you just want to fuck me," she said with a derisive smile.

Back in my previous life I would be denying such accusation vehemently and in most cases it would be true. But here, I didn't even bother with denial, as I just shrugged my shoulders. As I finished my second beer, I felt the familiar feeling of numbness overcome my body and mind, only increasing my mental indifference. This plain lager they sold here was definitely stronger that what we had in the Officer's Lounge. Without thinking much I ordered another one. I really wanted to feel numb this evening.

"You know, this stuff is strong. You shouldn't be drinking it so fast," she said looking at me again, her wrist-comp forgotten.

"Then try to keep up with me." I said with a raised eyebrow. She seemed to accept my challenge as she ordered a new glass of lager.

We spent some time talking about general stuff, exchanging thinly-veiled insults and barbs and getting steadily drunker. After some time I couldn't even remember that I initially wanted to sleep with her as I found myself genuinely enjoying our light conversation. The girl's name was Caprice and she was a 21 years old agriculture student at the Port Helix Academy of Life Sciences. We didn't have much in common when it came to mutual interests, but we shared similarly sarcastic sense of humour, sharp wit and a cynical view on life in general. We didn't even notice how much time had passed, until I took a quick look at the watch installed on my wrist-comp.

"Shit, it's 11 o'clock already? I must be getting back on board or my CO will have my balls for breakfast." I said trying to focus on her face which was swimming in front of my eyes. My voice was slurring as well.

"Sure, sailor go on. I gave you my address so we can hook up again when you're back in the Grand Pee-Eitch." she said, mentioning the slang name for the Port Helix.

I told Caprice that I was a Naval Infantryman from one of the corvettes docked in the starport, when she asked about my employment. I might have been drunk, but I wasn't about to admit to a civilian of all people that I was with the Security Branch.

She patted me on the back, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and after a quick goodbye left me at the bar. I fumbled a little with my wrist-comp, trying to arrange the payment for the alcohol. Caprice was nice enough to share the expenses with me, despite my insistence. Finally, I managed to pay the patient robot and get up from the counter.

My back hurt something fierce and my legs were numb, but despite that I left the bar without any help. The streets were dark and I could barely see any pedestrians as I walked underneath the halo of a street lamp. I was gloriously drunk and I started humming an old song. After few seconds my humming turned into singing. I nodded to myself as I sung and swaggered along the dark city street.

"_I should have known, you bid me farewell  
There's a lesson to be learned from this, and I learned it very well..."_

I was so absorbed in remembering the lyrics, that I didn't even notice a shadow creeping up from behind. When the blow to the back of my head came, I saw only stars.

* * *

'I am surrounded by darkness' was the first thought I had when I woke up. I was lying on the floor and my head hurt badly, both from drinking and from the assault before. My chest also hurt like hell – it appears that whoever knocked me out gave me a kick in the torso for a good measure. I wore some sort of dark hood over my head and it gave a horrible stench of mildew and stale water. I felt cold, too – my brand new shoes and jacket were gone. I only wore my thin button-down shirt and slacks and both of them felt dirty and smelly. I wasn't wearing any socks and my feet were ice cold.

I couldn't see anything, but I used my hands to feel the floor around me, which was pretty difficult as they were tied behind my back. It was covered in some sort of slime or grease and it was made of metal. Just like the room surrounding me it was cold to the touch and I shivered from the chill and fear.

I was scared shitless, no doubt about it. Unlike previously, when I woke up in the IDD facility, now people actually had a reason to kidnap me, ever since I was inducted into Security Branch. In hindsight, it might not have been my best idea to go pub-crawling alone in an unfamiliar city and getting completely drunk with some stranger. Then again, we always looked back with 20/20 vision.

My musings were stopped in their tracks by the screech of an opened door. I was so used to automatic sliding doors by now that I completely forgot how a regular door sounded.

I heard a person talking, but I couldn't understand anything. Everything they said sounded like gibberish to my ears. I was picked up roughly from the floor and my hands were stretched toward the ceiling. My assailant removed my bindings and put on plasteel handcuffs in their stead. They were placed on my wrists and attached to the wall, which made me hang with my feet barely touching the ground. He or she also gave me another kick, this time to the outside part of my thigh. I whimpered – the kick didn't hit anything vital, but it was painful nonetheless. Without a single word they grabbed my head by the hood and struck it against the wall, making me lose consciousness.

I couldn't say how long I'd been out of it, but when I woke up I was still hanging by the wall. The hood I wore had been taken off my head while I was unconscious and left lying on the floor. The room around me was dark with only one source of light, which was installed directly above my head. The room itself was completely barren with a dirty floor and rusty walls. The only entrance or exit was the heavy door right in front of me and it was closed.

My arms hurt horribly and they felt as if someone had tried pulling them out of their sockets. My head was still tender and I could feel dried blood on the back of my neck. The last hit must have broken the skin, since I felt the blood drip down my back. The metallic smell of haemoglobin was easily recognizable to my nose. I stood in a pool of some liquid and to my disgust I recognized its smell as urine. It was shameful, but I must have lost control of my bladder when they knocked me out again. It will teach me to go easy on the beers next time. If there would indeed be a next time.

It seemed like my adventure was over before it truly began. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left. All I could do was to stare at the dirty floor numbly without forming any coherent thoughts. I don't know how long I was standing there, when suddenly the door opened once again.

This time I noticed two men in green uniforms, without any distinctions. Both of them wore dark synthetic balaclavas with dark green surgical masks which I recognized to be the voice scramblers. During one of my classes with Lox I was told that voice scramblers were used to disguise what the person was saying, similar to the voice receptors that I used during war games. Only people who had their earpieces adjusted to correct frequency would be able to understand, while others would only hear some unrecognizable gibberish.

Both men dragged in a rubber water hose. They aimed it at me and suddenly a stream of ice cold water hit me like a ton of bricks. I coughed, I cried and I begged them to stop their onslaught, but they paid me no attention whatsoever. They adjusted the water stream and lessened the pressure, covering my whole body in water. After a few seconds they turned off the water and left, taking the water hose with them and locking the door. I was left hanging by the wall and coughing up the water that gotten forced into my mouth.

If I felt cold before it was freezing now. My clothes were dripping wet and I could see the water vapour turn to fog as I exhaled heavily. My panic stricken reactions were quickly overcoming my SERE training as I kept muttering silently.

"Oh my God… oh my God... oh my God..."

This time I cried, but I managed to do it silently not wanting to bring back my captors. Tears streamed down my face as I desperately tried to remember the 'Resistance' part of SERE training. But my thought process was scrambled, possibly due to the alcohol I consumed yesterday. I could only remember Galtieri saying:

"Your name, surname and serial number are the only things you are allowed to give away during the interrogation. Should they employ torture upon you it is imperative that you withhold all Intel for thirty six hours to give us ample time to perform damage control. Once the thirty six hours have passed you can tell them everything they want."

I just needed to hold it together for thirty six hours, starting now. I'd been in their captivity for couple of hours at least, but I had to assume that my absence would not be noticed until the night was passed.

Of course, it was easier said than done and my captors would certainly not make it any easier. I heard the door open once more and I raised my head to look at the people who entered. It was the same two men from before. This time they didn't have the water hose with them as they approached me. I instinctively tried to make myself a smaller target, but they didn't even attempt to hit me. One of the men held my head steady, while the other picked up the dirty hood from the floor and put it on my head. He fastened it hard around my neck, almost cutting off my airways entirely.

It felt like we left my cell, but that was all I could determine for certain. They half-led, half-dragged me through a corridor, which I could tell from the smell and the feel of the ground to be fairly dirty as well. We entered a different room and my bare feet felt that the floor here was wooden, while the room itself was noticeably warmer. Two men pushed me down to an uncomfortable wooden stool and roughly took the hood of my head. They left the room immediately closing the door.

I was sitting in front of a metal desk with a single holo-tablet and a bright lamp. There were two metal cabinets behind it and a man sitting on a chair. The man had a shaven head and a small goatee. He was white, but his eyes were the coldest shade of green that I've ever seen in my life. He was smoking an electronic cigarette or something similar as he studied a document on his holo-tablet. He looked at me and said.

"Your name, surname and the unit."

I shivered in fear. I tried and failed to answer without stuttering.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The man looked at me with visible irritation.

"Are you deaf, boy? I asked for your unit number!"

"I can't give away that information, sir." I said, completely mortified.

The man looked at me, suddenly very angry and yelled.

"What is your unit number, boy?! How many people in your unit?!"

"I can't give away that information, sir!" I said loudly in desperation.

The man calmed down and stood up. Finally I had a chance to take a good look at the clothes he was wearing. To my absolute horror, I recognized his uniform. It was a green coverall with a peculiar flag on the right sleeve - stripes in the colours of Confederacy with a black star inside a black cog imposed upon it. (1) I only had a very basic knowledge of terrorist and sectarian groups that plagued Multiverse Confederacy, as they were dealt mostly by the Internal Bureau of the Security Branch. But these people were so infamous that even I'd heard of them a couple of times.

This man was member of the Technocratic Peoples' Federation colloquially known as TechnoFeds. They were a terror group that preached that even a limited representative democracy that the Confederacy citizens enjoyed was destructive and counterproductive. Their official political manifesto stated that every person was a cog in the giant machine of state and that every person should know his or her place in the Universe. Only when that is achieved the people can reach the true heights of their potential. They believed that only a fully technocratic state could control the Multiverse in a satisfactory manner, eliminating inequality, poverty and war.

In short, they were dangerous zealots who had no qualms about dabbing in acts of terrorism, human trafficking or mass murder. And now they had their hands on me. There was no hope for me now and I recognized it for a fact that I was as good as dead. Security Branch would never negotiate with them.

The TechnoFed grabbed my throat and forced me to look him in the eye. He screamed loudly once again.

"I know you're with the Security Branch, boy! How many people are in your unit?!"

I was trembling with fear and my eyes started tearing up as he squeezed my throat, but I managed to whimper.

"I can't give away that information, sir."

The TechnoFed let go of my throat and went back behind the desk. Meanwhile I was wheezing, desperately trying to get much needed air to my lungs. My captor sat down in his chair and asked me once again. He spoke with such calmness, that you wouldn't believe he was yelling a moment ago.

"Your name, surname and unit number."

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir..." I said quietly.

"Your name, surname and unit number," he repeated without looking up from his tablet.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight..." I started once more, but he interrupted me with a shout.

"Shut up!"

I stopped talking immediately and looked at him. I tried to mask my fear to the best of my abilities, but I knew I won't be fooling the man in front of me.

"Your name, surname and unit number."

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir." I said without much conviction. I half-expected him to hit me and braced myself.

Instead, the TechnoFed officer wrote something on his wrist-comp. The two terrorists from before entered the room and they put the hood back on my head. They grabbed my hands, which were still in the plasteel handcuffs, and dragged me out. I didn't even have the strength to walk, as I was physically and mentally exhausted.

I could feel the cold floor of my cell as they fastened me once more to the wall, with my arms stretched upwards. This time they left me with the hood on. Two soldiers left, but I heard someone else enter the cold cell and place something on the floor. Whatever they placed there started beeping immediately at equal intervals.

They left me alone once again with the beeping machine. At first it didn't bother me much as it was just a simple, high-pitch metronome. But as the time passed the sound seemed to become louder and louder. I couldn't see anything, because of the hood on my head and I couldn't hear anything because of the constant, beeping noise. It seemed to pierce my eardrums and reverberate in my brain, overcoming remnants of my rational thoughts. After what seemed like hours I finally broke and yelled.

"For God's sake turn it off!"

But nobody responded to my pleas. I was hanging by my hands, I was wet and freezing, I couldn't see anything and to top it all up they put a noisy, beeping metronome in my cell. Calling it inhumane was an understatement of a century.

I yelled and I cried some more. I was begging my captors to turn off the hellish machine. Finally, after what seemed like hours, my exhaustion caught up with me and I slipped off to the blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

They woke me up with water once again. I was still hanging by the wall and by now my hands were completely numb – I doubted that they would function correctly ever again. I didn't even have the strength to protest, my previous fear and panic now reduced to impotent apathy. I could protest all I wanted, but they would break me and it would happen sooner rather than later.

The two guards removed the handcuffs from my wrists and let me slip down to the floor. They seemed to be saying something, but due to voice scramblers I couldn't understand. I didn't even care what they were saying – perhaps they were simply laughing at me?

I must have looked terrible - covered in dirt, urine, freezing water and lying on a greasy floor like a dying rat. As I was laying there, my captors poured some more water on me. I just spluttered and coughed, but I couldn't even get a single sound through my dry and abused throat.

They roughly yanked me up by my arms, causing me to yell out in pain. A glass of drinking water was poured down my throat, which I drank greedily knowing that my life depends on it. I felt a needle enter one of the veins on my arm and I immediately recognized the adrenaline shot.

My body felt invigorated once more, but now the numbing effects of exhaustion were gone and I felt the pain double in strength. Another shot was forced into my other arm and it seemed to be a painkiller of some sort.

I opened my eyes and noticed that my vision was swimming as if I was still drunk.

'Fucking morphine or some shit,' I thought dumbly.

I felt my two guards dragging me once again through the corridor toward the interrogation room. This time the wooden stool was standing by the wall and they sat me down on it. They fastened me to the seat with duct tape, cuffed my hands and placed a lamp in front of me. It was aimed directly at my face.

I heard someone approach, but he was beyond my field of view. I couldn't recognize the voice either, but I was fairly sure it was a male. Of course, I could have been completely of my rocker, seeing as they injected me with drugs.

"Would you like a cigarette, Peter? We have some real ones, you know. Even the brands that are banned in the Confederacy," his voice was polite and empathetic.

I nodded without saying a word. He put a cigarette in my mouth and lighted it up with an elegant silver lighter – most people nowadays used their wrist-comps to start the fire, but the lighters were considered to be a more sophisticated gift.

Due to the blinding light I still couldn't see any recognizable facial features and besides he quickly stepped away from my sight. Meanwhile, I took a long drag from the cigarette instantly feeling much better.

The TechnoFed said quietly, "Peter, we understand that you were recruited for the Security Branch via the Interactive Dislocation Department. Is that correct?"

I closed my eyes and took another long drag before responding.

"I can't give out that information, sir."

The hidden man had the gall to chuckle at that.

"Peter, Peter, Peter… If you decide to be obstinate, I will not be able to help you." I could actually imagine him shaking his head at me, as if I was an unruly child. Despite that, I was too drugged and numb to care about it.

Speaking of which, it couldn't have been morphine that they injected me with before. I already felt its dizzying effects going away, but to my joy the pain did not return. It seemed like the drug had some healing factor on my body. Could it be the nanogel?

But the TechnoFed was still talking.

"We know you, Peter Dubois. Or perhaps you would prefer to be called Peter *******?" He actually knew my 'real' name, which was surprising. To be completely honest, I was slowly forgetting it myself.

"What the IDD did to you was wrong, Peter. They had no right to take you away from your world and from your body. That is something that never should have happened."

He pushed the small coffee table my way. There was a single holo-tablet on it with some opened document on the display.

"Here we have your written confession. It states that you were unlawfully kidnapped from your universe by the agencies of the Multiverse Confederacy and that you demand to be returned to your world and your timeline. It contains your appeal to the Multiverse Parliament, which also condemns the Emergency Provisions Act under which you were drafted into the Security Branch. If this appeal goes public, it will cause the massive outcry among the population and we'll be able to arrange sending you back home."

Was I tempted by his proposal? Of course I was. They gave me a chance to return home and leave this whole bloody circus behind. No more Reapers, no more training, no more sleeping on the ground in my armour. I could slip back into my old body and no one would be any wiser. Bugger the fact that my original self was still there in my place, I deserved to be back with Erica after all this. Not him.

'Once I am back in Warsaw I could easily ambush the original and dispose of him quietly – no one would notice' I considered, slowly warming up to the idea, oblivious to the fact that I was basically conspiring to commit a murder.

I wanted to go home – nothing else mattered. And all I had to do was to sign the confession.

But then, I remembered my SERE training. Galtieri warned me about situations like these. 'No signature comes without strings attached,' he said. I would become their political pawn and there was no guarantee that they would honour their promise.

The TechnoFeds wanted to use me in their crusade for political recognition in the Confederacy. The Technocratic Peoples' Federation was not opposed to consciousness transfer, anyway! In fact, as I remembered from reading their manifesto, they claimed that it was the inalienable right of the multiverse for the greater civilizations to lead the smaller ones – with the use of force, if need be. They didn't care in the slightest about my plight; I was just a convenient tool.

This was all a fucking sham and I almost fell for their ploy. I raised my head defiantly and responded.

"Thank you, but I can't sign this document, sir."

The hidden man chuckled again, as if my singular act of defiance was the funniest thing in the world.

"Peter, are you sure about it? We know that your recruiters all but forced you to accept your new employment. We are giving you a choice." The TechnoFed's tone carried the same gentle politeness as before.

I was trembling once more, my fear returning in full force. Still, I responded with a note of finality silently dreading his reaction.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The blinding light was turned off. It caught me by surprise and before my eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness I heard the hidden man say.

"You disappointed me, Peter. We thought you were a reasonable person. It is the last time that we speak with each other, I'm afraid. Now my associates will have to take more… forceful measures to convince you."

He left me in the room. I was still duct-taped to the wooden stool, but at least the interrogation room was warmer than my cell. Meanwhile, my eyes were slowly adjusting to the surrounding darkness and I started to recognize the furniture in the room. As I did that, the two guards from before (or perhaps some other two men, they all looked the same to me) entered the interrogation room once again. They freed me from the chair and took off my handcuffs – perhaps they could see that I was in no condition to fight them.

We went out of the interrogation room. My feet hurt and I felt convinced of the possibility that they were bleeding as I slowly hobbled between the two guards. We entered a different room, which had a small iron cage inside. The guards unceremoniously pushed me into the cage and locked it behind me. Its ceiling was too low for me to stand, so I laid down on the bottom. It was still too small for me to stretch my body fully, so I was forced to assume a foetal position. It didn't take long for the guards to come back. Except, there were six of them now and to my horror each one of them carried a steel rebar.

'That's it, I'm dead. They're going to kill me now!' I heard my panicked thoughts as I desperately looked for a way out of the cage.

In the ancient Roman Army the worst possible offence was the cowardice on the battlefield. If a Roman legionary retreated from the battle without explicit orders, he was condemned to death. The sentence was carried out by other legionaries from his unit – they beat him to death with wooden clubs. It was a long and painful death and if by some miracle the convict survived such beating, he was left to die on the side of the road.

It seemed like I was going to experience the same pain they did. But the guards never hit me. They proceeded to hit the cage instead. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through my ears. In no time all of them were hitting it, the sound of screeching iron turning into a constant wail in my head. I was laying on the floor, holding my head as the men around me beat upon the small cage. The horrible sound numbed my brain, just like the beeping metronome did before, but now it was just an overwhelming background noise.

I don't know how long the guards kept beating at my cage – it might have been mere minutes, it might have been hours – but as suddenly as it started, it stopped. In the sudden silence I heard someone screaming loudly. It took me a moment to realize that it was ME who was screaming. As I fell silent, four of the guards left the room while the two opened the cage and dragged me out. I was sobbing and tears were streaming down my face, when they put me back in my cell and fastened me with the handcuffs to the wall. When they finally left me, all I could do was to be grateful for the surrounding silence.

I was dimly aware of what they were doing to me. During the Cold War the people of the Soviet Block liked to compare the communist secret service to the Nazis, but they weren't aware that in many ways communists were more sophisticated and efficient. For example, _Stasi_ – the East German secret police – had informants everywhere and if you got on their bad side they could make your life living hell. As for their interrogation techniques, it sufficed to say that people in East Germany had a proverb: 'The _Gestapo_ was breaking bones, but the _Stasi_ broke peoples' souls'.

The TechnoFeds were breaking my soul now. For some reason, they didn't want to permanently hurt or cripple me if the healing gel injection was anything to go by. But they definitely had no qualms about driving me insane.

Slowly, very slowly I came to a grim realization that I was going to die here right after I broke down and signed their confession. Their offer of returning me home might have been genuine at the time, but now it was all water under the bridge. All the resistance that I showed now, was just prolonging my slow mental agony.

I felt tears in my eyes once again.

Three or four hours had passed, maybe more when I was once again interrupted by the guards. I wasn't even surprised when they took me back to the interrogation room and sat me on the familiar wooden stool.

My first interrogator was there. He was scratching his shaved head as he read some report or other on his tablet. Once he was finished, he turned his attention to me.

"You will sign the confession, Dubois." His voice left no room for any argument.

But now I knew that signing this document would be my death sentence. They would no longer have any need to keep me alive.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."

He stood up and looked down at me. Yes, I was terribly afraid now.

"You think you can play tough with us, Dubois? You think you will die a bloody hero and get a funeral with bagpipes, drums and all that crap?"

The TechnoFed walked around the desk and sat down on it in front of me. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the eye.

"I'm going to break you, lieutenant. I will make you crawl on your belly, like the fucking snail that you are. You will be begging me to end your miserable life."

He picked up the tablet from the desk and shoved it into my face.

"Sign the fucking confession, soldier!" he shouted.

"I can't do that, sir!" my words were still defiant, but my voice was breaking like an old vinyl record.

My interrogator grabbed me by the flaps of my shirt – it was completely open now, as the elegant sewn buttons were long gone – and picked me up. He pushed me with force toward the wall. I hit it with full force as my hands were still handcuffed behind my back and were unable to cushion the impact.

I expected a follow-up hit and tried to cover my vitals the best I could but it never came. The TechnoFed officer towered above me and spat on me with disgust.

"You're a fucking drone, Dubois. The Confeds brainwashed you to their service. Why do you think they do all these knowledge-transfers, you idiot? They're using their technology against you, to keep you docile and satisfied."

Some of the things he said made sense but by now I didn't trust anyone. Everything was a big fucking game to these people and I was getting my ass kicked for it. My brain focused on the most basic need – try and survive for one more minute. My throat was contracting with fear, but I managed to say without stuttering.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The TechnoFed snapped his fingers and two guards appeared once more. They've picked me up and sat me back on the stool. The officer adjusted his wrinkled uniform, looked at me with barely concealed revulsion and sat down behind the desk.

All I could do was to look at my dirty trousers as he spoke to me.

"Sign the confession Dubois and all of it is going to end. You will be given food and clothes and nobody will touch you, I promise. The Technocratic Peoples' Federation will forgive you your transgressions."

The son-of-a-bitch even managed to sound magnanimous when he said that.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir." I said apathetically, not really caring what happened now. I was a dead man, anyway.

"The peoples' courts understand. You were raised in the foolish spirit of individualism and you have trouble understanding that it's the state that matters, not the individuals. We are all just the building blocks of civilization. Sign the confession and you will be cleansed of your sins."

God, I wanted to sign it so badly. I didn't care about his propaganda gibberish, but I just wanted the pain, the indignity and the continuous spiral of fear to end. I was just a human being, after all. The Confederacy gave me weapons, training and abilities beyond anything I could imagine. And despite that I was still brought down to my knees, living only because my captors didn't want to kill me yet.

Despite all that I'd been through I was still as obstinate and stubborn as ever. I might have been powerless, hopeless and terrified, but I would not give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cave in to their demands.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The TechnoFed scratched his short goatee and sighed.

"If that's how you want to do it, Dubois – be my guest. I didn't want it to end this way, but you give me no choice, son."

He typed on his wrist-comp and two guards from before showed up. This time they were armed – each had a pistol and an assault rifle. They've put on some sort of shackles on my ankles and used a magnetic lock to attach them to my handcuffs. I was marched out of the interrogation room behind the TechnoFed. The officer walked fast without looking back and the two guards trailed behind him dragging me with them. Four other guards joined us and they too were armed.

This time we didn't take any familiar corridors. We walked down, deeper into the compound. There were barely any lights on the way, but the steel corridor seemed cleaner than the rooms from before. We took a sharp turn and the officer used his wrist-comp to open the automatic door.

We entered a spacious room. It was completely empty, apart from a white line on the floor near the far wall. I was placed behind that line. When I looked at it I noticed that the wall behind me had multiple bullet holes. As I focused my eyes I could notice a rusty residue on the wall. My sharpened sense of smell couldn't confirm it, but my gut feeling told me that it was blood.

Jesus, is that how I'm going to end my life? Shot by firing squad because I joined the organization which gave me no other choice? I wanted to cry and yell at the unfairness of it all, but the cold dread paralyzed my body. I could only look in terror and fear as the officer inspected the guards' assault rifles. He then approached me and without asking put a smelly hood over my head.

As he fastened the straps, nearly choking me in the process, I noticed that I no longer feared death. All of this was going to end very soon and I finally felt at peace. Ever since I came to this world I was always running, chasing some unattainable goal. But now, the responsibility was gone – others would have to worry about the mission. Perhaps they will find some other guy, or maybe copy my consciousness once again. Frankly, I didn't care. Despite all that, I felt like I had made a good run of it, altogether.

The firing squad was ready. I heard the TechnoFed officer give a sharp command.

"Present!"

After all, who was I but a clone of the real Peter? It was shortly followed by another quick order.

"Take aim!"

'Mum, Dad – I'm so sorry. I love you, baby.' I thought about Erica and my family for the last time.

"FIRE!"

I saw light.

END OF CHAPTER 5

* * *

(1)The Technocratic Peoples' Federation flag can be found on my profile picture. Usually the cog with the star are placed on the mast side, but smaller flags and roundels have them placed in the middle.

**A/N: Yep, that's it. Dubois was unlucky enough to get caught in something bigger than himself, which had nothing to do with the Mass Effect or his mission there. Sometimes bad things happen to random people through no fault of their own.**

**What's going to happen now? Well, to find out you will have to stay tuned for the next chapter of Multiverse Effect.**

**Have a good one! (or at least a better one than this poor idiot)**

**RosoMC**


	11. Chapter 6 - The Pieces Are There, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the first part of Chapter 6. It was incredibly difficult to write, but thanks to my Beta and his gracious suggestions it's been done. This chapter has about 7k words. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 6 – The Pieces Are There**

_Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death._

_Sun Tzu_

* * *

It wasn't the light – it was darkness. Someone had definitely turned off the lighting in the execution room. I also clearly heard the TechnoFed officer give an order to fire the volley, but no shots were fired.

The fact that I wasn't dead surprised me a little, but it also brought back the fear from before in full force. It seemed that it was only a fake execution. I'd heard of such things done by the Iranian revolutionaries to the American embassy employees during the Iranian Hostage Crisis in '79. If that happened to me, then it could only mean that they would be continuing on with their torture.

I was ready to cry – I couldn't stand either the iron cage or the water hose anymore. I wanted to die so badly, just so it would finally be over. The TechnoFeds it seemed, enjoyed playing with me too much. They were determined to bring me to my knees – even the East German _Stasi_ wasn't that fucking heartless.

I decided that enough was enough, whatever they wanted me to sign now, I would do so gladly. I would confess to anything, even spying for the damn turians. I just wanted this suffering and indignity to end.

Then I heard footsteps approaching fast. The hood was yanked of my head and I was ready to try and cushion the hit that was sure to follow, but nothing happened. I looked at the person who took of my hood and I couldn't believe my eyes.

It was Major Frederick Sharpe. He was wearing his black dress uniform and looking very out of place in the dark execution room. My first reaction was to stand at attention, but at that moment my exhausted body failed me completely and I felt myself falling down.

But Sharpe's reflexes were as good as ever. He caught me mid-fall and propped me against the wall. I was trying to find something to say to explain and perhaps apologize, but the words were eluding me completely.

"Sir, I… sir. I'm… Sir." I just kept repeating over and over again.

Major Sharpe patted me on the shoulder and said.

"You did well, Lieutenant Dubois. It was just a test; you were never in any danger. I'm sorry for everything you had to go through, but we had to be sure that your loyalty is on our side."

I felt tears streaming down my face as I sat down on the dirty floor and put my face in my heads.

"Oh God, oh God… it's finally over…"

Major Sharpe sat next to me and said gently.

"You went above and beyond the call of duty, once more. We expected you to break down within the initial 10 hours. You would have still passed the test, you know? But you held out for whole 36 hours, as per regulations. You are a brave man, lieutenant."

I snorted through my tears.

"I'm not brave, sir. I broke down. They broke me down, repeatedly. I prayed to God for death, and I'm an atheist, sir."

Looking around the empty execution room I sighed heavily, trying to blink away my tears.

"Was it all just to determine my loyalty, sir? Was it really necessary?" I was aware that I sounded like a petulant child, but I'd just spent the night lying in my own piss and I wasn't happy about it, so give me a break.

"Unfortunately, yes. It was absolutely necessary. Not only to test your loyalty, of course."

He indicated our surroundings with a wave of his hand.

"Sooner or later, you would find yourself in a situation where you need to use such… forceful interrogation techniques to acquire the Intel you need. I wanted you to experience the other side of the equation – you needed to learn first how to be the hunted, not the hunter. While at times forceful interrogation is necessary, I want you always to remember these thirty six hours of your life, especially if you choose to torture your prisoner. Never treat an interrogation – any interrogation – lightly."

"Yes sir." I responded quietly.

Major Sharpe smiled at me sadly and said.

"One of those masked soldiers who dragged you from your cell and back was General Anjou himself. He would not allow anyone to shoulder the duty of forcefully interrogating one of his own men. You were told that the decision as to whether you kept your officer rank would be approved by the committee – that was incorrect. General Anjou made that decision as he was also the one who did the 'good cop' interrogation routine with you."

I snorted, but it came out more like a choke. It was hard to imagine the severe _Samurai_ casually offering me a cigarette. People back at base would never believe that.

Sharpe patted me on the shoulder gently and added.

"I'll tell you in secret – you have really impressed the old man. And you have impressed me, Dubois. Personally, I think you are ready to learn about interrogation techniques. I'm sure you understand now that using them is the last resort."

"Yes sir."

Sharpe helped me get up and gently led me through the corridors. On the way I saw Security Branch agents, still in their TechnoFed uniforms standing at attention. And Sharpe was right – one of them was the old man himself – Brigadier General Edouard Anjou. He looked imposing as usual, despite wearing work clothes and I had trouble connecting this serious veteran with a man who was gently coercing me to betray the Confederacy just a few hours before.

I also recognized the 'TechnoFed' officer who interrogated me and led the firing squad – I was certain that his bald head and goatee would haunt my dreams for weeks to come. He was also standing at attention and he nodded at me approvingly when we passed him.

General Anjou barked a short order and all men saluted crisply. It took me a second to realize that they'd been saluting ME.

Were there any outsiders there it would have looked ridiculous to them: A dirty and smelly prisoner, led by an officer in Security Branch dress blacks, being saluted by men in TechnoFed working uniforms. But to me, at that moment it felt like I was born-again – because I'd survived that hell and because I'd been handed the chance to live another day.

But in the back of my head there was still a fear of torture and pain that had been ingrained in me in the last 36 hours. On an intellectual level I was aware that External Affairs Bureau did such things to their prisoners, but not even in my worst nightmares I could imagine myself as one their victims. Despite my anger at the whole situation and the pain I suffered, I felt that nothing will be the same again for me.

At the time I didn't know, but that was the first time when my brain allowed the thought of hurting other sapient beings for the sake of my goals. The time I spent in the interrogation room, in the iron cage and hanging by my wrists in the cell changed me mentally in many ways.

For weeks to come I would wince when I had to go under the streaming water in the shower room. I had a panic attack once when I got entangled in my uniform t-shirt – It gave me a flashback to the smelly hood they put on my head during my interrogation. For a time I had trouble with dark and confined spaces and with loud, high-pitch noises. I went to therapy of course and in most cases my fears had disappeared. But there remained this dark feeling at the edge of my consciousness, which woke me up at nights as I dreamed of the handcuffs, the freezing water and the beeping metronome.

* * *

Would you believe that all this time we've been in Camp Bravo Two? Apparently, when the Security Branch agents knocked me out, they smuggled me into the facility through an underground maglev rail of some sort. I wasn't even surprised that we had such a thing under our base.

My interrogation was a very traumatic experience, but we couldn't afford to slack on my training. I was cleaned up, spent some time in medical and after being cleared for duty I was back on track. Yes, the Security Branch didn't have time to cuddle their freshly minted officer, even if he just went through hell. Another week passed without anything of significance happening. My promotion to Second Lieutenant was confirmed on paper (or rather a holo-tablet document) and I even received a small raise for my troubles. Major Sharpe personally purchased me a new pair of slacks and a brand new shirt, while the rest of my new civilian clothes were returned from the Security Branch deposit.

It was a small gesture, but I appreciated it nonetheless. I also met other officers during the course of my classes and I noticed that all of them treated me with much more respect. Previously I was like the youngest kid in the family – cute but nobody really cared about my opinion. Now I felt like they accepted me as their equal.

Well, one thing of importance happened. On the first night I was back, Patricia visited me in my bunk. We stayed up well into the night and I finally had a chance to talk to someone about it without rank getting in the way. Or at least as much as it couldn't get in the way when talking with your superior after working hours.

Colonel Patricia van Koolwijk entered my room uninvited and without ceremony, sat down on my bed. She looked at me seriously, "I hope you understand that I couldn't have told you about the interrogation, Peter."

I sighed and said as I sat next to her, "That's alright. I didn't expect you would have."

"How are you feeling now?" She was clearly concerned about my well-being. It was nice, but I was still rather squeamish about talking to other people.

Besides, what could I tell her? How could I put in words the horrible spiral of pain, hopelessness and fear that penetrated my brain and my body during the interrogation? There was nothing that I could say that would even remotely explain the internal turmoil that I felt right now. I doubted I'd have the words to explain it, even if I was a professional writer.

"I've been better." I finally muttered.

"We've all been there, Peter." Patricia said quietly, avoiding my eyes.

I looked at her, genuinely surprised.

"Seriously? Female operatives are tested that way too?"

"Yes." She replied curtly. Her hand found mine and squeezed it.

"Female operatives experience a simulated rape." She finally said – her voice was quiet but there was no hesitation in it. "It is a specially programmed data-transfer that creates an illusion of sexual assault. It is administered during the course of forceful interrogation."

"Christ Almighty..." I whispered, not believing what I was hearing. It seemed like the Security Branch was willing to sink to the lowest depths of depravity to provide their operators with a 'learning experience'. It was really sickening and cruel beyond words. How could the people of the Confederacy stand for it? They were doing it to their sons and their daughters, for God's sake!

But Patricia looked at me sharply and her voice was stern.

"Your pity is misplaced, Peter. I was a field operative for a number of years and I was always aware of the risks that my line of work carried. I am a spy – do you think that our enemies will care in the slightest about my virtue should I get caught? I taught you that your body is a weapon, but like all weapons we have in our arsenal it's a double-edged sword. It can be and will be used to break you. Security Branch may seem very severe to you now, but we prepare you for every possibility."

I frowned at that. Was that what I would become after three months of training? A monster capable of committing atrocities like torture, rape or murder? Were we trying to save the Mass Effect galaxy or bring it to its knees? We had to draw the line somewhere, hadn't we?

"And you're alright with what they did to you? Sexual assault... it just seems unnecessary cruel." I said quietly.

"Our enemies, like TechnoFeds ARE unnecessary cruel, Peter. They have faith that what they do is for the betterment of the Multiverse and they believe that the end justifies the means. It's just the way the world of espionage works, Peter. You will be dealing with the worst type of people during the course of your deployment to Sub-verse number 524 and you have to be prepared to do what needs to be done. That includes torture, if that is what it takes to accomplish your mission." She finished ominously.

I remembered what the bearded 'TechnoFed' officer had said to me while I was being interrogated – that Security Branch was using the data-transfer technology to bring me around to their way of thinking. It had seemed plausible at the time and it still looked valid. Whether it was the torture that I experienced or the knowledge transfers that I had – I didn't know, but my mind was much more open to the Bureau's ideas than it was previously.

Of course it could be just a quick lie used during my fake interrogation, but I didn't think it was. Security Branch's training manual stated that lying about facts that could be verified by the subject was strongly discouraged. Truth was a much more potent weapon that you could utilize against other people – you just had to choose carefully which truths you want to reveal to achieve maximum effect. Obviously, I didn't expect the Security Branch to clarify that to me anytime soon.

As usual, my train of thought was ceased by Patricia's ministrations. Apparently she was tired of our conversation already. She leaned in close and murmured in my ear.

"You were very brave today, Peter." Her sultry voice made me shudder.

"Just lie down on your stomach and relax. I'll give you a massage the likes of which you've never experienced before."

I did as I was told, shivering in anticipation. It was frightening how easily this woman could play me, but I didn't really mind. The darker part of my consciousness whispered in my ear.

'You could do the same to a woman. And slit her throat immediately afterwards.' It sounded like my voice but it had a distinct vindictive flavor to it.

I closed my eyes and focused on Patricia's ministrations. I didn't want to think about the monster I was slowly becoming.

She quickly took of my t-shirt and straddled my bottom. Her strong hands expertly massaged away the kinks on my back and shoulders. After the long hours of constant humiliation and pain this massage felt so awesome that simple words couldn't describe it.

As you can easily imagine, there wasn't much serious talking done in the following hours.

* * *

All in all, things have returned to normal afterwards – or as normal as they could be. I had put all my heart into the training partially to catch up and partially to forget what happened during my 'forceful' interrogation.

I also managed to finally meet Specialist Salmia Fahri. I admit that I'd completely forgotten that we were supposed to talk, but in my defense the fake kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment really threw me out of the loop. We managed to get together in the mess hall over the weekend. I immediately noticed that she was out of her uniform as she sat there sipping tea.

I sat across the table and ordered my own tea on my wrist-comp. I looked at her with a smile and said hello.

"Good morning, Specialist Fahri. I see you're not in uniform?" I wasn't really scolding her. Security Branch wasn't the army and over the weekends enlisted personnel could do as they pleased.

She wore an elegant dark blue skirt with a jacket to match and a fitting white turtleneck. Her outfit was very business-like.

"Good morning, el-tee." she responded respectfully, but her voice carried a hint of mirth. I guess that the days of the ass-slapping rumor were far from over. To be honest, as time went by I found out that I really didn't mind, even if explaining still felt awkward. And the whole thing was pretty funny.

"So, where are you going today? On a date? Who's the lucky girl?" I decided to tease her a little – it was only fair, after all.

Specialist Fahri blushed at my insinuations and found it difficult to respond, which amused me to no end.

"No, el-tee! It's not like that! I don't even... I don't meet girls like that. If I'd be meeting anybody it would be someone like you. I mean – male, definitely male! I'll just shut up..." she trailed off dejectedly.

I felt sorry for her immediately. She was a damn good soldier and a proper specialist in the field. During the war games it was a pleasure to watch her do her job. She cooperated perfectly with PFC Thomas Binh Trang as they operated our two drone wings and they provided cover for all our sectors at all times – I checked it twice. Unfortunately, she must have been the least social person I think I have ever met in my life. All I did was some harmless teasing and all she could do was to blush like a schoolgirl. For the life of me, I couldn't work out how she had managed to join security branch with a handicap like that. Possibly her mechanical and technical aptitude outweighed her social awkwardness.

"Relax, Specialist. I was only joking around. It's not my business to know where you're going anyway."

She just looked up at me and said.

"No, el-tee – it's okay. I sometimes just get nervous like that. But I'm working on it!" she added quickly.

She sighed and said once more.

"I am going to a party meeting today. Elegant clothes are required, el-tee."

I perked up, suddenly curious.

"Oh, I wasn't aware that the Confederacy had political parties?" Good job Peter, and you spent how many years studying to be a specialist in political science? To be frank, I hadn't even bothered to look deeper into the political system of my new country, apart from the basic data-transfer back in the Interactive Dislocation Department.

"Yes we have, el-tee. I belong to Unionist Labour Interversal and we are a solidarist party. Uhm... I think that back on our Earth our platform would be considered socialist."

I wasn't very fond of socialists or their agenda, but then again – people were entitled to have their own opinions on economic and social issues. Live and let live and all that jazz. On my Earth I'd had a few friends who could be considered lefty, but it didn't make me think any less of them.

Another thing was bugging me though, as I asked Salmia.

"And the Security Branch has no problem at all with you carrying a party card?"

"No, sir. Of course I'm not allowed to share my opinions during working hours." I nodded at that – the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy that Security Branch embraced. "But after the work is done, I'm allowed to do as I please."

I had my previous doubts about the policies of the Security Branch, especially concerning things like relationships between co-workers or political opinions. It just didn't seem feasible to successfully divide things like personal liaisons and the work you were doing with said person – and I knew it was hypocritical of me, seeing as I'd had such a liaison with a woman who was not only my senior, but my superior as well.

On the other hand – it seemed to work for them. I couldn't presume that just because they did things differently than we did them on my Earth, that it meant that my way was superior. In fact, the Confederacy was around much longer than any civilization on Earth, seeing as it was already well established by the time the ancient Chinese built their first empire.

Speaking of our Earth, I was eager to finally find out who Specialist Fahri really was and I asked her about it. She fidgeted a little at that, but she gathered her courage and said.

"I was born in Morocco in 1971, el-tee. My father was a car mechanic in Mansour a small town near Marrakesh. My mother died of influenza when I was very young. I was the only child and my father wanted to pass his company down to me, but there was one problem. In the Morocco in the 1980's no sane man would trust a woman, much less a girl, to repair his car. I didn't have many job options from then on as we weren't important or wealthy enough for my father to put me through a good French-speaking school."

She smiled at her memories and I didn't dare to interrupt.

"My _abi_ was a good man. He always said that if we wanted to be as wealthy and prosperous as the Westerners then we had to educate our children. He wanted to educate me as well, but he simply couldn't afford that."

Salmia Fahri shook her head sadly.

"My consciousness was copied when I was sixteen years old. I was brought by the Interactive Dislocation Department into a different universe. They offered to put me through the Security Branch training regime and have me sign an 8-year contract with the Tactical Squads. Afterwards, the Security Branch would also pay the tuition for the technical university of my own choice. I just couldn't say no to that."

"And what about your father?" I asked gently, thinking about my own family.

"I had nobody apart from my _abi_ and the IDD made sure that he still had the original me with him. I miss him sometimes, but I have my own life now. I had to take my chance, you know el-tee? Back in Morocco I would never be able to afford to go to a proper _lycée,_ let alone a _polytechnique_. But here? The sky is the limit."

"Do you know what happened to your family?"

She shook her head.

"Of course not, el-tee. The displaced agents are forbidden from contacting their original universe. Haven't your IDD handlers told you that on your induction day?"

I felt my stomach freeze as I answered. I struggled to keep my voice down, but I don't think that Specialist Fahri noticed.

"Sorry, it must have slipped my mind. Of course they told me."

I made a show of checking the time on my wrist-comp and stood up.

"Oh dear I'm afraid that I have to go now, Specialist. Have a good day." I waved at her with a friendly smile.

"Thank you, el-tee and good day to you too!"

I left the mess hall in a hurry.

I'd run out of the building and crossed the parade ground on the double. I had no idea where I was going, but I noticed that I went by one of the obstacle courses for recruits. It was located on the outskirts of Camp Bravo Two and when I reached it I sat down on one of the benches for the military observers. I patted my uniform tunic, looking for the cigarette package that I bought in the Base Exchange. Once I found it I took out one tobacco stick, put it in my mouth and lit it up using my wrist-comp. As I was smoking my cigarette I stared dumbly at the soft synth-paper package. It was a type of article that looked very vintage and very out-of-place on the futuristic Confederacy world.

The brand was called 'Morley's' and it was packed in a red and white soft box which contained 20 cigarettes. I realized that I was smoking more and more tobacco lately. One of the reasons was that the cigarettes calmed my nerves, when I had flashbacks of my interrogation. The other reason was that I no longer had to fear lung cancer as it was easily treatable, so there was no incentive for me to quit smoking. I finished my first tobacco stick in a record time and used the still lit cigarette butt to light another one.

I was very angry. I was well aware that I wouldn't be seeing anyone from my previous life ever again, even if only to talk. Still, I did not expect that Security Branch and the IDD would legally ban me from even checking up on them. I wouldn't argue for visiting days, but just the possibility to take a peek now and then to see how my younger siblings are doing would be sufficient! They certainly couldn't have expected me to completely forget my family just because I was copy-pasted away from my world?

But then again, what could I do about it? Was I supposed to go and file a complaint against my handler in the IDD that she failed to fulfill her duties in informing me about the terms and conditions of my consciousness transfer? Yeah, because pissing off my personal shrink and my handler was that smart. I couldn't go with it to Galtieri or Sharpe, because Security Branch didn't give a flying crap about my family back home – they were interested in me and training me up to their standards. Even if I started a proper shitstorm about it nothing could be done. The Bureau would tell me to go to speak to the IDD and the IDD would just have me running in circles. Bureaucracy was a very convenient hiding spot – it absolved all responsibility from individuals and put it on impersonal executive decisions instead.

Like I previously noted – all agencies, departments and divisions in Multiverse Confederacy consisted of normal people doing (or failing to do, as it was) their jobs. Whether I liked it or not, I was part of this system now. Looking for the people responsible for the most recent failure was like a dog chasing his own tail – it would accomplish absolutely nothing and possibly bite me in the ass in the long run. This was a depressing state of affairs, but it was the one I had to work with.

I finished the second cigarette and got up as I decided that brooding here would do me no good. The die was cast, the river was crossed, the boat had sailed – whatever stupid buzzword you may have wanted to use. There was no going back to my old universe and as Salmia Fahri had said: I had my own life now and I had to take whatever chances I could. It wasn't perfect by any stretch – back at home I would've never had to worry about being tortured or dying – but it was all I had now. I would still miss my home and my old life, but I had to focus on the future.

That was the only way to ensure that I would survive long enough to see my future.

* * *

From that moment onwards, I put all my strength into the training. Ever since my mental screening at the IDD facility in Alsmoor I tended to reduce the number of data-transfers during weekends. It helped with calming my nerves immensely and gave me time to recuperate my strength for the week. Despite smaller amounts of knowledge transfers my training still progressed at a satisfactory rate. I managed to pass all my mid-term competence exams – which was a laughable designation, since mid-term meant a month and half to me. I received good marks overall, but cryptography, encoding and radio communications I passed by the skin of my teeth, even with the increased data-transfers on these topics. I could only hope that my life won't depend on them during my deployment to the Mass Effect universe.

I kept seeing Colonel Patricia van Koolwijk on a regular basis and despite our difference in rank and age we managed to strike an easy friendship. I was aware that she was mostly doing it because she was ordered to, but I discovered that I didn't really mind. It seemed like the opportunistic approach that most people in Security Branch had was rubbing off on me. Other than that I didn't have much of a social life – I tended to stay away from Port Helix, remembering how my foray ended last time. It was rather depressing actually, as back on Earth I loved meeting new people and I felt very comfortable talking to them about any topic. I didn't really enjoy sitting and studying in the libraries or staying up late reading, but that's how I spent most of my time here.

On the other hand, I spent much more time doing physical exercises than I'd ever done in my life. Yes, I did occasionally hit a gym or a swimming pool back home, but here I was literally beating my records every day. I was very often too tired to move in the evenings, but I admit that it felt really good.

I also went to visit Dr. Koeckritz in Alsmoor facility once again to have my physical examination. Once it was done I was advised by her that the Consciousness Acquisition team would visit me at Camp Bravo Two to present the results. I was relieved that I would not have to make another trip there, as they got rather tedious and boring after a while.

A few days after my mid-term examinations I was called up to Major Sharpe's office. I took a minute to straighten my uniform and fix my headgear, before I went to meet him.

I entered the office and stood at attention, saluting Major Sharpe sharply. I noticed that he wasn't alone there. Captain Galtieri and the Consciousness Acquisition team were there as well. It seemed that I would be receiving my physical examination results at last.

"At ease, lieutenant," I heard Sharpe say.

I nodded at Galtieri and went to shake hands with the Interactive Dislocation Dept. team, starting with Vassilevskiy who was standing closest to me. It wasn't exactly proper according to the protocol, but I believed that Sharpe wouldn't mind just this once.

After a round of friendly greetings and a pat on the back from Christiansen we all sat down on the provided chairs. Dr. Koeckritz nodded at Vassilevskiy who started. As was his custom he skipped any pleasantries and went straight to the point.

"Lieutenant Dubois, we would like to inform you that your new body has been fully designed and has passed our digital testing. We have done a full computer simulation on the procedure. It turns out that we will not need to do a full consciousness transfer to the new vessel as tweaking your current Beta-Body will be sufficient."

I admit I was relieved to hear that. Despite everything I saw and did so far I was still rather squeamish about being transferred to another vessel. For all I cared, I could happily spend the rest of my days in the body I had now. Even trying to imagine watching another myself on the operating table gave me the chills. There were two of us running around already, and I wasn't keen to add another to the mix. But Vassilevskiy was still talking, his nose almost touching the opened document on his Interius holo-tablet.

"During your mental and physical screening it was determined that your current vessel operates within expected parameters and the biggest issue noted so far was your lack of tolerance for the knowledge transfers. Of course, our greatest concern was the unexpected and unwelcome abuse of the data-transfer procedure, along with the pains you experienced put a great strain on your body and mind."

He looked at Captain with a frown, who in turn raised his chin challengingly. No words were spoken between the two men, but I could see that Vassilevskiy was clearly unhappy with our decision to utilize data transfers as much as we did.

Of course, his dissatisfaction was not caused by any sympathy toward my humble self. After I asked around I learned that quite a few people in the Security Branch remembered Vassilevskiy from the time he spent working in the mafia. Field agents had many stories to tell – each one more improbable than the other – but they all agreed that Vassilevskiy for all his brilliance was a total misanthrope. The geneticist disliked people on principle and I was no exception. But he treated my current body like one of his creations and he considered the abuse it suffered as a personal slight to his work. Imagine a gifted car mechanic who sees the machine he just put together being used in a destruction derby and you might understand how Vassilevskiy felt.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by the smiling Christiansen. The neurologist turned to me and asked.

"Have you noticed any instances of memory loss, Lieutenant Dubois?"

I shook my head.

"No, I can't say I have. Why?"

"Then what is your parents' home address?"

What kind of stupid question was that? I lived in that house for more than twenty years, of course I would remember! We lived in…

I did a double take, because for all that is holy I could not remember the exact address.

I remembered that we had a house with two floors. The outside walls were painted light green, but what was the color of the roof? I thought it was dark green. I was just guessing now. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my family. My youngest brother - did he have a long or short hair? My siblings used to wear their hair long in the late 2000s as was fashionable back then, but did they cut it later or not?

I tried to remember my friends from the university – we hung out a lot and I passed out drunk more than once at their respective couches. On which side of the Vistula River they lived? Dom was always a proud local patriot, but I couldn't for the life of me say from which part of the city. What was the name of Rob's town? I went there like a hundred times to party or hang out with people. It was one of these 19th century working class towns, built around the local industry. He told me that they suffered a total drainage of youth in the late 20th century, when Poland adopted a capitalist economy. How could its name elude me, when I remembered so much about it? Jesus…

The knowledge that I used to recall at a moment's notice simply wasn't there anymore. I could only remember the small bits and pieces of useless trivia, but nothing really substantial. I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach as I kept shaking my head at my own ignorance.

I opened my eyes and looked around. Galtieri and Sharpe had very serious expressions on their faces. Gillespie looked mildly concerned while Anneke and Vassilevskiy wrote furiously on their holo-tablets. Only Christiansen was looking straight at me with a raised eyebrow, for once without his trademark goofy smile.

"I can't remember my parents' address. I can still recall the people, but all the things that I knew about them are gone. How did this happen? And how did I not notice that?" I asked, hoping against all hope that I didn't sound too desperate.

Christiansen folded his arms over his broad chest and explained.

"There is a very good reason why the data-transfer procedure is as tightly regulated as it is for the civilian population. Of course, as part of the Security Branch you can make your own rules but the reasons remain valid. If you substitute natural learning with a simple copy and paste as you have been doing so far, the brain will not have enough time to properly distribute the data it acquired. If that happens then your brain will take a path of least resistance – it will overwrite the existing neural connections. It will happen unless your brain had been properly conditioned."

The neurologist consulted the notes on his holo-tablet and continued.

"You didn't notice that, because you were unable to feel the loss of data. Imagine it that way – when you forget something it leaves a noticeable empty space in the network which your brain actively tries to fill in by forming new connections and trying to retrieve the knowledge from your subconscious. But if you overwrite the existing data with all subtlety of a bull in the china shop the brain is duped into thinking that everything is a-okay, even when it clearly isn't."

While I respected his extensive knowledge on the subject, I didn't care about the neurologic technobabble in the slightest. The sudden loss of the memories from my previous life felt like a heavy blow. But Christiansen wasn't finished yet.

"Under normal circumstances it wouldn't have happened, because the knowledge transfer technology has built-in safeguards against such occurrences. But in your Beta-Body, which had trouble accepting the data-transfers in general, it created a very fragile mental state and caused the data overwrite and subsequent loss of your less vital memories. Mr. Vassilevskiy and I are certain that once we do the upgrade procedure to your current body this problem will disappear and further knowledge transfers will be safe."

I finally got my act together enough to ask the question that was on my mind.

"What about my memories? Can I get them back? You still have a copy of my original consciousness, right?"

Christiansen glanced at Anneke who turned her Interius holo-tablet toward me and said.

"We have prepared a compiled data package that would be transferred to your brain during the upcoming upgrade procedure to your Beta-Body, which would restore all your previous memories and merge them seamlessly with your current knowledge. It is optional whether you take it or not, of course."

"I want my memories back ASAP. Why wouldn't I take it?" I inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"This memory merger procedure is still a work in progress – it hasn't been tested on live subjects. The theory behind it is sound, but we can't guarantee that it will be successful. It would require us to increase the capacity of your brain just in case. Your original body didn't have _in utero_ upgrades that all Multiverse Confederacy citizens have and for that reason a memory merger might be a shock to the system. We have to ask you, whether you are willing to take that risk."

I looked around the room. Galtieri and Sharpe offered no advice – I think they understood the risks better than I did and left the decision up to me. If the IDD personnel themselves were apprehensive about this procedure, then it meant that the danger it presented greatly exceeded the acceptable risk margins.

But it wasn't really a choice for me – I had to get my memory back. Not because I needed it in my future mission, but because it was something that was solely mine. It did not belong to Confederacy or Security Branch or the IDD, but to me – Peter Dubois, formerly known as Peter ********.

Dr. Koeckritz said best when we first met – it is our memories and experiences that make us the people we are today. Even if there was no way back home, I was determined to retain all the memories I could. And I would do it even if it meant risking my health or well-being.

"I will do it. I will undergo the memory merger, even if it is a risky procedure."

Anneke Koeckritz gave me a long pleading look. I looked her in the eye without any hesitation. I guess she recognized the fact that she wouldn't change my mind as she turned to Gillespie who had his own holo-tablet at the ready.

"Mr. Gillespie, please put on the record that Lieutenant Peter Dubois agreed to undergo the brain upgrade treatment along with subsequent experimental memory merger procedure. Gentlemen, please put your electronic signatures here."

She transferred a document to my wrist-comp. I noticed that both Galtieri and Sharpe received similar documents. Understandable, since they were my direct superiors. I wasted no time as I signed it and sent it back to her. Gillespie pressed a few keys on his holographic keyboard, saving all three copies of the document.

I stood up and shook hands with the Consciousness Acquisition team. When I approached Dr. Koeckritz instead of taking my hand she moved up to me and gave me a brief hug. She smiled hesitantly and said.

"Good luck, Peter."

I nodded at her with a smile, but I didn't say anything. As the IDD personnel filtered out of the room, two enlisted Security Branch soldiers entered the office quietly and took out the extra chairs where the Consciousness Acquisition team had been sitting. They left as swiftly as they entered, without a speaking a single word.

Galtieri relaxed in his chair and looked at me with a lecherous grin.

"So you and Dr. Koeckritz, huh? You are aware that she is married, lieutenant?" I noticed that even Major Sharpe had a smirk on his face.

But I was grateful for their attempt to cheer me up so I responded with a weak smile.

"My relationship with Dr. Koeckritz is strictly professional, captain."

"Of course it is." Said Major Sharpe, but his amused tone of voice belied his words. "Just like with every other female that you meet."

They couldn't honestly believe that? I wasn't some heartbreaking Don Juan from a Brazilian soap-opera. Besides, it was Galtieri who told me that flirting is just another exercise in my espionage training and I accepted it for a fact.

Still, it seemed like the officers were simply teasing me to get me out of my funk regarding my memories debacle, so I decided to keep the ball rolling.

"There is nothing I can do or say that would convince you otherwise, sirs?"

"I'm afraid not, lieutenant." Said Major Sharpe with utmost conviction.

"Nope!" as usual, Galtieri was much less formal.

"Thank you very much, sirs. Permission to leave, Major?"

"Granted." Said Sharpe curtly as he turned to Galtieri and they both activated their holo-tablets.

Recognizing clear dismissal I stood at attention and saluted both men. Sharpe waved me away, already engrossed in an opened document as I left his office.

* * *

P.S. Did you take notice of the brand of cigarettes that Dubois is smoking? 'Morley's' appeared in one very popular TV Series and their look was sort of based on Marlboro. If anyone can guess who was smoking 'Morley's' and which TV show was that you will get an Internet cookie. I admit, it is a pretty obscure reference. ;)

**A/N: So there it is, Chapter 6. Dubois didn't die and he will be going to Mass Effect galaxy very soon. In fact, he already is there, because I have a few updates written in advance. What's he going to do there?**

**Well, you will have to stay tuned for the second part of Chapter 6!**

**Have a good one!**


	12. Chapter 6 - The Pieces Are There, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 6. This one has a about 6,5k words for your enjoyment. We finally go to the Mass Effect galaxy - took us long enough. I am posting this one a little bit earlier than usual, because two more updates are already done, so there is no point in procastrinating. The next chunk though, will be posted on the next Saturday as it should be.**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

**I would also like to take a moment and thank James from Redentor Publishings for his diligent work, brainstorming and suggestions. Without him this story would probably never saw the light of the day and I think there is at least a few people who actually enjoy reading my scribbles. So thank you and thank you again!**

* * *

The next week and a half was spent preparing for my Beta-Body upgrade. The Consciousness Acquisition team moved into Camp Bravo Two and had a special lab prepared there for the body upgrade and subsequent deployment procedure. In my personal opinion it was highly unlikely that something would have happened to me on the way, should I have to go to the Alsmoor facility, but Security Branch wasn't taking any chances so close to my deployment.

While the Interactive Dislocation Department team prepared the upgrade I was still going to my classes and taking part in military exercises with the rest of the 3rd Battalion and occasionally with the Confederate Army and Navy. The closer we got to my deployment date, the higher rose the level of combat readiness in our base and the more agitated the soldiers of 213th Infiltration Brigade became.

The base security was upped considerably in the last week or so. The security measures from nearly three months ago, when I first came to Camp Bravo Two seemed very lax in comparison. We now had emergency drills daily, all soldiers wore weapons with them at all times and more and more duties were performed in the full body armor instead of regular mottled gray fatigues. Drone operators deployed all four defense wings for patrolling the vicinity of the base and all passes for the Security Branch personnel were revoked. You could feel in the air that something was about to happen and I admit that I was very excited for it.

I was sitting in my class, typing furiously on my holo-tablet and listening to the lecture when the door opened. An NCO that I couldn't recognize entered the classroom. He nodded apologetically at the lecturing officer and said, "Lieutenant Dubois, with me."

I immediately stood up and left the classroom, saluting the lecturer on my way out. It was very unusual for NCOs to be sent out personally to collect wayward agents when a simple wrist-comp message would do the job all the same, so I was immediately curious. It was either something very important or very urgent.

We left the classroom behind and passed the administrative offices of the base. We walked through the hallways and I inquired.

"Can you tell me what happened, Staff Sergeant?" I asked, noticing the insignia on his collar.

The NCO's response was respectful and professional, but he remained reticent.

"I don't know anything, lieutenant."

"But you know where we are going, sergeant?" I pressed on, determined to find out.

"We are going to the laboratory prepared by the Interactive Dislocation Department, lieutenant. That's all I know." The NCO looked exasperated at my questioning, but I already found out what I needed to know.

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant." I said curtly.

I was fairly sure where we were going. It seemed like everything was prepared for my Body Upgrade and it will be done today. As we navigated the familiar hallways of the administration building my mind started to wander once more.

One of the rules of the Security Branch was: 'Gather information wherever and whenever possible. You may never know when it might be useful.' In addition to another one: 'Never go into combat situation unprepared – intelligence and preparation, not foolish bravado is what wins the wars.'

That was all the External Affairs Bureau cared about – wars. Not tactical small-unit engagements, not pitched battles, not even large-scale combat operations, but wars – pure and simple.

Yes, we put strong emphasis on the combat capabilities and training of particular field agents, but in the end everything became less important in comparison to a final victory. It didn't matter if your enemy thought he won a thousand engagements, big or small. All that mattered was that our side accomplished strategic goals of the war. Such a holistic approach by definition put the lives of soldiers and non-combatants or destruction of the property as secondary to the war effort as a whole – the complete opposite of what I was taught in history classes back on Earth. On Earth modern societies condemned torture, while Confederacy citizens gave their tacit agreement into torturing their enemies with one clause: 'we don't want to see it or hear about it.' Sure, there were voices of discontent against such a policy, but the majority of people as usual could not be bothered enough to care.

In the Mass Effect universe, even the turians balked at dropping nuclear devices on the surface of so-called 'garden worlds' – and for a good reason. Garden worlds, suitable for supporting life and colonization were rare and precious. For Security Branch on the other hand it was a perfectly valid strategy if it denied the resources to the enemy. In the end a corporation like Nebular Dynamics would win a contract to terraform the planet back to its previous state, earn billions of credits while doing so and everyone would be happy. Sure, taxpayers' money and innumerable sentient lives were wasted in the process, but if it achieved us the strategic goals, we were more than happy to pay the price.

Also, I learned during the course of my studies that while Confederacy would not go out of their way to endanger innocents, all sentient living beings came second when put against the Confederacy's citizens or property. If the push came to shove, Confederate Navy had no problem with conducting a 'gunboat diplomacy' with starships and weapons of mass destruction. To paraphrase the French general and president, Charles De Gaulle: 'Confederacy doesn't have friends – it has spheres of interest.'

But that was for later. Now I had to get ready for the Body Upgrade procedure. I had been mentally preparing for it for the last week or so. I was still apprehensive, especially about the possibility of losing my memories (to my horror I still could not remember where my parents lived), but I reached the conclusion that it had to be done. I gritted my teeth as we approached the entrance to the labs.

"Thank you sergeant, I will manage from here on." I said silently but firmly, turning to face him.

Staff Sergeant seemed like he wanted to protest for a moment, but he took one look at my serious face and left without saying a word. I was still his superior officer, even if he'd likely been given orders by MY superiors to bring me here.

I activated my wrist-comp and opened the door to the labs. I entered a spacious room with something akin to an operating table in the middle. The first thing I thought when I saw it was: 'It's very blue'. There were cold blue lights illuminating the space, which gave an aura of a sterile environment – I suspect it was supposed to put me at ease. On one of the walls there was a huge flat screen displaying some complicated readouts which meant absolutely nothing to me. Apart from that I noticed couple of vaguely dangerous looking tools lying around, but I knew that in IDD work they would mostly use nanotech, which was kept in special durasteel containers. Multiple durasteel containers were placed on one of the metal tables, easily accessible if needed.

Christiansen and Vassilevskiy were there, preparing the table and consulting their own wrist-comps. Both men had foregone their snug gray coveralls and wore something similar to HAZMAT suits, which didn't fill me with confidence at all. Gillespie stood in the corner, operating what looked like a large desktop computer. He was surrounded by an energy field of some sort, probably to keep him from contaminating the sterile room as he didn't have the environmental suit on him. He had a 'Google glasses' headset that I've seen many people wearing and was monitoring the screen. Matthias was a consummate IT specialist, when he was in his 'programming space' he didn't notice the world around him, so I wasn't surprised in the slightest he completely ignored my entrance.

Behind the reinforced glass window I saw Dr. Koeckritz, General Anjou, Colonel van Koolwijk along with Galtieri and Sharpe. There were a few more officers that I didn't recognize as well as a couple of older looking ladies and gentleman, whom must have come from the Interactive Dislocation Department if their elegant attires were anything to go by.

Three months ago I would have been mortified if I was told to undress in front of all these people. But that was the old me – my months of military and espionage training combined with the years of knowledge passed through methodical and numerous data transfers completely erased any feelings of embarrassment or shame I would have normally felt. I could bet my next salary that the people present here knew my most intimate secrets by now in any case. They were the ones who put me through my hellish interrogation after all. Compared to those experiences my upcoming Beta-Body Upgrade was nothing.

Christiansen smiled at me and indicated that I needed to rest on the table. Only then did I notice that Lox was also present in the room in his terminator-like, durasteel chassis. The AI assistant helped me with removing the uniform and I was left in my underwear. As I lied down on the 'operating table', Vassilevskiy approached me with his wrist-comp activated. The orange glow was in the shape of a narrow syringe, to which he attached one of the nanogel containers. The app in my eyes identified it as the dreamless sleep solution.

The geneticist said reassuringly, "We will put you to sleep now, Dubois. You won't feel a thing."

I nodded, still rather apprehensive and asked Vassilevskiy.

"Will you give me my memories back, doctor?"

Vassilevskiy and Christiansen exchanged quick looks. Finally the smiling Swede said.

"I will do the best I can, Dubois. I promise you that." He nodded at Vassilevskiy and motioned him to continue.

I was aware that the procedure I was about to undergo was very difficult and dangerous to me, but I couldn't bring myself to care about it. You only live once, right?

Vassilevskiy injected me with nanogel. It entered my bloodstream and spread itself throughout my body. A heartbeat later I drifted into unconsciousness, sleep claiming my fatigued mind.

* * *

We were lying on the hill, an overwatch position above the enemy base. This time I knew that we had live rounds in the magazines. I scanned the FOB with my binoculars and to my great surprise I spotted the green colours of the Technocratic Peoples' Federation. From my readings I recognized them as their elite Volunteer Guards Battalions – by far their most unforgiving soldiers. Their answer to the Confederacy's Special Forces, and Security Branch.

Above the enemy FOB waved the TechnoFed flag. This flag stirred in me the memories of my shameful interrogation, which quickly turned into cold hatred. It had the colors of the Confederacy, a twisted mockery of what we stood for. I understood that it represented something that I hated with every fiber of my being.

I gritted my teeth at the TechnoFed bastards and gave a quick order.

"Trang, call in the QRF. Light up the whole base."

"Roger that, el-tee," Came the muffled response of the drone operator.

This time our artillery came in immediately, walking barrage sweeping the TechnoFed FOB. These were no dummy rounds and they would not lock up the enemy combat armors. Exploding ordinance tore H-barriers and sandbag walls to pieces, ripping apart the TechnoFeds who took cover behind them. This time we didn't need any support and I ordered my squad to 'fire and advance' with a grim expression.

I felt my pulse racing as we once again bound forward by teams. This time everything went perfectly, seeing as the small FOB did not put much of a fight. There was barely any return fire from the beleaguered TechnoFeds as we sprinted toward their positions. Elite infantry, right!

We entered the nearly empty base-camp. Enemies were still shell-shocked and they could barely recognize their surroundings, let alone fight against us. We put each of them down easily as we fanned out inside the base. They did not surrender to us and no quarter was given, because Confederacy does not negotiate with terrorists. Sure it was not the way that we fought on Earth in 21st century, but the Multiverse was a dog-eat-dog world!

I approached one of the lying TechnoFeds with a satisfied smirk. His legs were completely gone as he was caught by the edge of the explosion during the artillery barrage. He seemed rather lanky for an elite soldier, but perhaps the Technocratic Peoples' Federation was scrapping the bottom of the barrel now. The soldier was not moving – my knowledge of combat wounds was limited, but I believe that it was the condensed air pressure generated by the exploding ordinance that was the cause of death. I crouched by him and took off his helmet. My eyes opened wide in horror.

It was my little brother - Tommy. I had three brothers and his head was shaved completely bald, but I would recognize his face anywhere in the world. His lifeless eyes looked up at me with a surprised expression, as if he didn't expect his young life to be cut so short.

I couldn't stop my tears – he wasn't supposed to be here! He was supposed to be safe at home where there are no wars, no Reapers and no dimension-hopping terrorists. I cried as I cradled what was left of his body on my lap, not even noticing the dark red blood painting my armor.

Oh God… oh God… fucking TechnoFeds… How dare they? My family… I'm going to kill them all!

Then there was light again.

* * *

Waking up felt good for a change. My body was working better than ever and I was filled with energy. I opened my eyes and saw Christiansen looking down at me. The neurologist looked very satisfied and I took it as a good sign. He noticed that I had awoken and helped me up.

"How are you feeling, Peter?"

I smiled at him slightly. I was not going to tell him that I just killed my brother and I waved away his helping hand. Despite knowing that it was simply a nightmarish dream, I still felt shaken to the core. I mean, Confederacy would not allow any harm to come to my family, would they?

"Better than ever, Olaf." I lied. It came to me easier with each passing day. "I take it that the surgery was successful?"

Of course it was. I could still recall my brother's dead body on my lap. Memory doesn't get any better than that.

"Indeed. We have managed to fully restore memories of your previous life and believe me – it wasn't easy. I think that the results of this surgery will be enough to guarantee my PhD."

I barked a short laugh at that as I recounted things I previously could not remember. I was immensely relieved to find that I could recall them with perfect clarity.

"Feel free to use them, mate. You did a good job." I said approvingly.

"No, lieutenant. I did the best job." He corrected me with his traditional goofy smile. "We have noticed some unusual brain activity during the procedure. Are you sure you're alright, Peter?"

"I'm fine, doctor. Stop being such a mother-hen." I gave him a tight smile as I looked for my uniform.

I found it in one of the lockers (Pathfinder app being indispensable once more) and put it back on. I strapped on my sidearm and adjusted my headgear, as I recollected my dream. I didn't believe in prophetic dreams – they were simply the visualization of our hopes and fears. But I recalled with vivid clarity my burning hatred for the TechnoFeds. I knew that people who interrogated me were Security Branch employees in disguise. Why would I feel such hatred toward the terror group, then? Is it possible that it was subconsciously ingrained in me during my multiple data transfers? Or perhaps some of the Galtieri's memories were affecting my own judgment? Jesus H. Christ, I was shaping up to be a real basket-case.

Christiansen opened the door and led me through one of the side corridors to a larger conference room. The large armored door opened silently in front of us, allowing us entrance.

My training created certain habits that I followed and this time was no exception. When I entered the unfamiliar room my eyes swept all four corners of it, quickly assessing possible covers and escape routes. The conference room was spacious with very elegant wooden tables and comfortable leather armchairs. Everyone I saw prior to the surgery was sat there with their holo-tablets activated, including the men I'd never seen before. There was a clear line in sitting arrangements with Security Branch people having taken seats on the left and IDD personnel on the right. They all seemed to be waiting for me.

I sat down at the chair indicated by the Pathfinder app and waited for someone to speak first. Thankfully it was the General Anjou who broke the uncomfortable silence. The severe-looking officer looked at me and spoke, business-like and composed.

"How are you feeling, lieutenant?"

"Never better, sir. All my memories appear to be back." I answered crisply, not willing to divulge further.

I noticed that everyone wrote something on their holo-tablets. One of the older gentlemen from the IDD that I couldn't recognize said, "According to Dr. Vassilevskiy's and Dr. Christiansen's post-surgery reports they were able to fully recover the Lieutenant's memories and fix the imbalances of his Beta-Body, especially concerning the issues with data-transfer procedure. Problems with memory overwrite and painful knowledge transfer have been resolved. They won't be of any concern in the future, we can assure you lieutenant."

The unknown IDD man said the last sentence in my general direction with a slight tilt of his head. To say I was relieved was an understatement. Usually, at the end of the working week I was physically and mentally exhausted due to multiple knowledge transfers. During the weekends I could barely move in the morning, before Lox injected me with my daily cocktail of vitamins and energizers. Knowing that I would not have to suffer the phantom pains made me a very happy man. I definitely looked forward to getting some good night sleep without any headache or nerve pain.

General Anjou nodded at that and stood up from his armchair. He turned towards and addressed the gathered scientists.

"It seems like finally everything went according to the plan, ladies and gentlemen. As we all can plainly see Lieutenant Dubois is alive and healthy. This concludes our meeting. I would like to take this moment now, to thank everyone from the Interactive Dislocation Department who have taken part in the Consciousness Acquisition and Transfer procedure and subsequent body upgrade. Please remember that Security Branch and the Confederacy are grateful for your hard work. You have made your country proud and the Multiverse a safer place."

It was a clear dismissal if I'd ever heard one. For all his nice words what Anjou said was basically: 'You've done your work civvies, now get out. Let the big boys handle the REAL job.' Have I mentioned that the Security Branch and the IDD disliked each other when it came to Consciousness Acquisition due to their overlapping responsibilities? I believe I did. And as you could clearly see, my big boss despite his age and experience was no exception to that rule.

The IDD personnel swiftly emptied the conference room – neither of the agencies had much time for elaborate ceremonies. Once only the Security Branch personnel were left in the room, General Anjou used his wrist-comp to lock the door and said.

"Lieutenant, we must plan your deployment now. Your body and mind have been fully tested and found to be within the acceptable parameters. You have also passed all your competence examinations and it was decided that you will be promoted to full Lieutenant as you should be, seeing as your training is now complete."

He paused for a moment, letting me absorb the information. It wasn't that much of a surprise, really. Unlike my previous promotion, I saw this one coming a mile away – without a full lieutenant rank I could not be deployed outside of Multiverse Confederacy territory, especially not on a solo mission.

"During your training we have also assessed your strong and weak points and have adjusted your mission plan accordingly. Obviously, the basics remain the same; your job is to establish an espionage network in Sub-verse F-Out number 524. For simplicity's sake from now on we will use the colloquial designation 'Mass Effect Universe' after the video game from your world. We already maintain a number of undercover sources in the galaxy in question and you will be receiving their particulars after you are deployed. You will also be forwarded a full list of equipment that you will be issued – this list has to be double-checked and signed off, but the details you will discuss with Captain Galtieri."

Of course I would have to do more paperwork, because that's what people in the Multiverse Confederacy did. The invoices kept our multiverse spinning. Or should I say running? Never mind.

Meanwhile Anjou motioned Major Sharpe to continue. The Commander of my battalion consulted his own holo-tablet.

"We hold a strong belief that your first contact point should be one Zaeed Massani. He is a former Alliance soldier and currently a freelancer mercenary. Mr. Massani does occasional jobs for the Shadow Broker, even if their affiliation is not very deep or secure. Nevertheless, he still harbors an ambition to take back the control of the private military corporation he established – the Blue Suns. If we are able to help him out in this endeavor we may secure his loyalty and use the Blue Suns' considerable firepower and numbers to our advantage. While the Security Branch and the Confederacy in general may have a problem with sending our own troops to the Mass Effect Universe they won't have any issues whatsoever with providing funds to pay off Blue Suns contractors."

Blue Suns had a very bad reputation in Mass Effect games, usually serving as cannon fodder to be killed by Shepard or as faceless and nameless troops to one Terminus warlord or another. Some of their reputation was certainly deserved. Private armies in Mass Effect were not like our PMCs who took mostly government contracts concerning training or guard duties, who existed under the tolerance of the established administration. The companies like Blue Suns, Eclipse or Blood Pack had no problem with smuggling illegal substances, weapons or even slaves. They really weren't the kind of people a girl would bring home and introduce to her parents.

Despite all that, no one would ever say that they were cowardly, poorly trained or incompetent at what they did. Blue Suns were well-led on a squad level, well equipped with small arms and heavy weaponry and they even had their own small navy. As much as it pained me to admit it, they were my kind of troops. In addition – they were loyal to money and for everything that the External Affairs Bureau was lacking, money was not one of these things.

"So you want me to subvert Mr. Massani to our cause and use Blue Suns as the starting point for military build-up against the Reaper threat, sir?"

Sharpe nodded with a small smile and said.

"That is correct, lieutenant. Additionally, many of the Blue Suns contractors are Batarian. We can use the Blue Suns mercenaries and their knowledge to gain valuable insight into the current situation in the Batarian Hegemony. Sadly, we have been unable to properly infiltrate the structures of the Hegemony so far, due to the totalitarian nature of their state. Part of the problem is also the traditional Batarian xenophobia, which was ingrained into their culture over centuries, almost if not as much as slavery was."

Sharpe looked severely around the table and continued, his tone of voice carrying a note of finality.

"We don't like the way the Batarian Hegemony is run at the moment, but the near total eradication of their race during the course of Mass Effect video games is not an acceptable solution by any stretch. No matter how two-faced or inhumane the Hegemony regime is, condemning a whole race to genocide does not sit well with the Multiverse Confederacy. For that matter, it shouldn't sit well with any decent human being."

I didn't particularly care one way or the other for the Batarians when I played the video games – unless they happened to kill my Shepard, but that's a whole different story. At the time they seemed like a pretty generic space-asshole race whose sole purpose in the game was to provide an enemy that we, as players could all hate. Also, the Batarians fit pretty well with the Crapsack Universe that Mass Effect galaxy was, with their totalitarian political system and glorification of sentient servitude.

"These two are your first objectives lieutenant. It will provide you with a beachhead, a stable base of operations. The moment you are deployed to Sub-verse F-Out number 524 all our assets in that 'verse will become your assets. Do you have any further questions, Dubois?" asked Sharpe

I thought about it for a moment. To be frank, winning the loyalty of the old mercenary seemed like a piece of cake in comparison to stretching the Bureau's espionage network to include Batarians and infiltrating the Hegemony's territory. It seemed like the Security Branch provided a steep learning curve for their field agents. But my training was kicking in as usual and I smirked to myself. I already had an outline of a plan that I would use.

In the mean time I was writing down everything I could on my holo-tablet. I raised my eyes and looked back at General Anjou, who was listening to our conversation closely.

"What measures are authorized for subverting Zaeed Massani, taking control of the Blue Suns and infiltrating the Hegemony structures, General?"

Brigadier General Edouard Anjou, the commanding officer of 213th Infiltration Brigade looked at me for a moment that felt like eternity. His eyes were wholly unreadable and I could feel deep unease settle over me. Finally, he responded quietly.

"You are authorized to use any and all means at your disposal to fulfill these objectives, lieutenant."

I gulped loudly as I heard a soft murmur pass among the gathered Security Branch officers. They understood the gravity of this permission and so did I. It meant that I'd received something that only a limited number of agents got – a _carte blanche_. The white card. It meant that I could do anything I deemed necessary to achieve my goals, including acquiring liquid assets through illegal means, detaining people without lawful order, conducting 'forceful interrogation' and even a summary execution under the provisions of Martial Law.

Of course, I was still bound by the Security Branch code of conduct. I still had to fill in monthly reports that would be kept under strict scrutiny. Even stricter scrutiny in fact, given the nature of the _carte blanche._ Still, if I didn't tread carefully it had potential to go very badly indeed.

I heard General Anjou call the meeting to adjourn, but my body was moving of its own volition. I barely registered saluting the senior officers as I left the conference room.

I needed a drink. And a smoke. And maybe a shower.

* * *

It was Thursday, of all days. The day I was going to be deployed to my first and very likely last solo mission as a field agent of the Security Branch. It took me some time to absorb all the information that I recently learned. Seeing as my problem with knowledge transfer technology was now fixed, I spent my last few days getting all the data-transfers I could get my hands on that concerned the Mass Effect Galaxy. Some of the knowledge that I acquired was very useful. Others not so much, but I didn't mind.

According to the ever-helpful Lox I was now an expert in Hanar algae farming technologies and I could write a proper scientific essay on Asari folk music, god awful as it was. Seriously, Asari might be the ultimate space babes with awesome psychic-biotic powers, but they definitely should be kept away from any music instruments. There were a couple of other useless and mundane topics that I learned, but the less said about them the better. Nevertheless, no matter what happened in the future, even if I failed horribly, I could say with all honestly that I did my best to prepare for the task ahead.

Security Branch wasn't the Army. They didn't have any elaborate passing-out parades, seeing as parade drills were only performed during the basic training to establish discipline among the raw recruits. Apart from my meeting with the Security Branch officers few days ago, which confirmed my promotion to full lieutenant there was no official ceremony to mark the end of my training. That in of itself was fine, but a romantic part of my soul still yearned for a little pomp and pride.

I sat down on my bed, waiting for the all clear signal. The Supply and Logistics Company was still doing some last minute tweaks to my transport. I looked at my folded hands, excited and terrified at the same time. Finally, after what seemed like the standard queuing time for a healthcare clinic, I heard the beeping sound of an incoming message on my wrist-comp. I guess I should start calling them omni-tools now, since it wouldn't be very good to slip up during my time in the Mass Effect galaxy. Then again, an Omni-Tool was essentially a wrist-mounted computer. Aside from all the other functions that made it seem more like a Swiss-Army knife than a piece of electronics, I could just as easily pass off any potential slip-ups as a personal quirk.

I checked the message to confirm what it said:

'Lieutenant Dubois to the flight deck.'

I sighed heavily and got up from my bed. For the last time I took a good look around my room. It was completely devoid of any personal knick-knacks that I gathered over the weeks and it was fully prepared to accept a new tenant, whoever that might be. I gathered my bearings and left the bunk in which I lived for the last three months. My name was erased from the holographic display on the door, the moment I closed it behind me – in about an hour it will be as if I never existed here. And that seemed to be the Security Branch's goal, since one of the reasons I was recruited was plausible deniability.

All my clothes and equipment were already packed by the enlisted personnel, so I only wore my light Interceptor Armor, its helmet loosely attached to my waist. I had my assault rifle, my knife and my sidearm with me as I walked the corridor – everything else was already aboard. I left the officers barracks and crossed the parade ground outside, going straight to one of the hangars. While I was walking there I was alone, apart from Galtieri and Sharpe who joined me on the way. Galtieri was there in his capacity as my direct superior and Sharpe as an officer who had operational control over my mission. They didn't offer any words of encouragement or pity and I was strangely touched by that. It meant that my training was finally over and I was fully accepted into the ranks of the Security Branch agents. Galtieri and Sharpe were no longer my mentors – and their behavior reflected that. But it also meant that they trusted me to fulfill my mission to the best of my abilities, and to accept the responsibility for mistakes made in the line of duty. A tall order.

We entered one of the hangar bays on the edges of the Camp Bravo Two. There I noticed the Alliance corvette that would become my home away from home for the duration of the mission, or at least until I could find a better ship. Its shape was markedly different from Confederacy's starships that surrounded it – it was more lean and aerodynamic in design, whereas Confederate Navy put more emphasis on heavy armament and utility.

The decommissioned ship was called SSV 'Coronado' when it served in the Systems Alliance Navy. She was one of the _Freedom-class_ patrol corvettes. She was supposed to be scrapped along with her sister ships when the _Freedom-class _units were being replaced with a newer type of vessel, but it never came to pass. The vessels were spacious, respectably sturdy and space-worthy but above all they guaranteed a very long period of operational independence, as they were designed for scouting and long range patrols. Because of that it was much more reasonable to sell them off on the civilian market and many of them had ended up in private hands. The Confederacy had no problem with acquiring one of the corvettes and refitting it for their own purposes.

As a long range patrol boat she was designed to work with a skeleton crew of four people, even if she could comfortably accommodate up to twenty. The problem was – I was just one person. It would be impossible for me to run the ship by myself, even if I specialized in this field, which I most certainly did not. The solution proposed by Major Sharpe was elegantly simple, but because we were going to be in the Mass Effect galaxy it posed a rather large problem. Long story short, Lox would be going with me as a second crew member, along with four of his android bodies. As an Artificial Intelligence he had (much like displaced people) a special status in the Confederacy, which allowed him to be sent to other universes under the authority and jurisdiction of Security Branch. In addition, he could easily control four of his bodies at the same time, which allowed him to take full control of the boat. He was also a veritable walking encyclopedia of the Mass Effect galaxy, which would definitely come in handy, seeing as I won't have access to the Confederacy's equivalent of Internet.

The danger was of course lay in the fact that Artificial Intelligences were illegal in Citadel Space. Just as with my feelings upon the Batarians, I wasn't really bothered with breaking Citadel law that much, but I didn't want to suffer through a headache of police or military investigation either. And that's what would happen should it be discovered that I harbored an AI on board of my ship. Of course, there was nothing I could do about it so it was decided that I would simply tread carefully.

I turned to Galtieri and Sharpe who accompanied me and saluted them respectfully. Without further ado we shook hands and I climbed aboard my new corvette. I had to use the stairs, because the docking port was on top of the ship.

We decided to leave the name 'Coronado', because I liked it and we simply scrapped off the Alliance markings. Any armaments that the corvette originally had were removed as it went to military surplus, but Confederacy reinstalled many of them. To avoid suspicion, they installed a standard, low-caliber mass accelerator cannon along the spine with one torpedo launcher. Such weaponry was bound to raise some eyebrows under closer scrutiny, but I honestly didn't care. I could simply say that I mostly fly through Terminus systems. 'Coronado' didn't have any dedicated defensive weaponry like GARDIAN lasers, but she didn't need it. Confederate engineers placed an overlay of plasteel with nanites, which was guaranteed to withstand much more punishment than standard Mass Effect armor. A proper cruiser could still do a lot of damage to her, but if I ever got stupid enough to go up against a proper cruiser in this high-tech dingy, then I deserved to die.

We also had the regular mass effect drive, but the engineers of the Security Branch managed to jury-rig an additional, suitable wormhole-jump mechanism that would provide us with some dimension-hopping ability. The 'Coronado' would never be able to run circles around the Mass Effect starships, she simply wasn't built for that. But she would definitely be capable of running from the danger zone if the situation ever demanded it. Which was almost a guaranty.

I sat at the pilot armchair and looked at the holographic indicators. To my undertrained eye everything seemed okay, so I reclined comfortably and waited for the launch.

I did go through the basic flight training after my failure with flying the shuttle, but I wasn't proficient in it by any stretch. I was reasonably certain that I could keep her flying straight if necessary, but nothing more sophisticated than that. As it was, I preferred to leave the particulars of running and flying the corvette in the able hands of Lox, who was much less likely to crash land us on some lifeless planet.

It wasn't a very long wait before I heard that the countdown begin. The hangar ceiling opened up like the petals of a blooming flower and the 'Coronado' activated its maneuvering engines. I had no windows in the corvette, but I turned the external cameras on to observe the world around me. On the holographic screens I saw Camp Bravo Two and the surrounding forests and fields. It wasn't High-Definition quality, but it was still breathtaking, since the external cameras were installed everywhere around the ship. The apps in my eyes were constantly scanning the screens and indicators, advising on the most efficient and correct routes, completely unaware that the corvette was not in fact being steered by me. As we climbed slowly above the base, a couple of Security Branch 'Fulcrums' provided an escort to the wormhole-jump area. It was indicated by flashing anti-grav beacons, which floated around the staging area and warned flying drones and other aircraft of the imminent jump. It was a safety precaution. Apparently third party ships caught in the transition were usually found ripped to pieces, along with their crew.

I had no idea whether it was true, or whether it was just another of the legends that spacers liked to tell in the bars, but I wasn't very keen on testing it on myself. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

The countdown reached zero when we were at the staging area. Lox activated all boosters and I felt a sharp tug on my body as it was pressed into the armchair by the accelerating corvette. I opened my eyes and through the screen right before my face I saw a dark wormhole forming, the same as the one I saw the cruiser form from during our military exercise. It grew bigger and bigger and I thought that it would completely swallow my ship as we came near it. The 'Coronado' went through the opened wormhole like a knife through butter. There were no flashes or lightning strikes during the transition – one moment we were above the ground at Camp Bravo Two and another we flew through the void of space.

We were in a different universe. It still felt weird to say and it happened so fast! I reigned in my apprehension and steeled myself to do what needed to be done. The Reapers were coming to melt me down along with everyone else in the galaxy.

We had to be prepared for everything.

END OF CHAPTER 6

* * *

**A/N: So this is the second part of Chapter 6. Thus we also conclude the Training and Preparation Arc (no it wasn't really a proper story arc, I just made that up on the fly). From now on Dubois will venture deep into the ugliest corners of Mass Effect galaxy. He will see the dirty underbelly of the universe and gain some questionable allies. But that is for Chapter 7, so stay tuned!**

**Have a good one!**


	13. Chapter 7 - Walk Into The Fire, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the first part of Chapter 7. We are finally in the Mass Effect galaxy with the difficult task ahead. It is about 5,6k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Walk Into The Fire**

_People say I am ruthless. I am not ruthless. And if I find the man who is calling me ruthless, I shall destroy him._

_Robert F. Kennedy_

* * *

On the way to 'Widow' Relay

Earth Year: 2172

Believe me when I say it – the Mass Effect video games couldn't do justice to the beauty, majesty and sheer scale of a mass relay. To be faced with something so glorious, I had to wonder if the race who built them had intentionally made them to be aesthetically pleasing, or if they had just naturally turned out this way. Seeing as Lox had everything under control and I wasn't any good at piloting the ship anyway, I quickly began to realise that I had a lot of time on my hands for the first time in months. I spent the last few hours going through my documents and signing off those I forgot to deal with back in the base. For once, the convoluted bureaucratic process of the Confederacy would work in my favor – I doubted that anyone would notice that some of my signatures were missing before we left. Once the backlog was dealt with I took time to familiarize myself with the ship. I pestered the patient AI for instructions on how to use various features, and he explained to me how to operate the external cameras.

As we approached the relay I sat down at the pilot's armchair, turned on the holographic screens and placed them all around me. With my eyes opened wide I put on a headset and turned on the music. As the mass relay grew bigger and bigger on the screen I heard the first notes of Johann Strauss' 'Blue Danube Waltz'. At that moment, I felt completely at peace.

"The future is now…" I murmured to myself, enchanted by the view in front of me.

In a way it was very calming to my nerves. When I played Mass Effect or any other sci-fi game I never took time to appreciate how large the Galaxy actually was. It wasn't completely my fault, because most of the games had limited means through which to purvey the feeling of the ever-expanding universe. But here and now, as I sat in this armchair in a small corvette I realized how small and insignificant we were when compared to the vastness of space. You could have dropped Mount Everest through the Mass Relay, and I doubt it would even have scraped the sides.

I don't know how long I sat there, simply watching the approaching relay, but the ever-vigilant Lox called out to me through intercom.

"Lieutenant Dubois, please strap yourself in. We will be making the relay jump to the Widow System in two minutes."

"Thank you, Lox. How do you plan to keep yourself hidden from the C-Sec? You know that AI's are illegal in the Citadel Space?"

"Don't worry lieutenant, the C-Sec can't find me if they don't know who to look for."

I couldn't argue with that logic, so I simply nodded. I took of my headset, hid it in one of my lockers and sat back down in the pilot's armchair. "Do you know where we can find Zaeed Massani?"

"A quick search on the extranet revealed that he is on the Citadel at the moment and is currently unemployed."

I was surprised by his resourcefulness, but he was an AI after all.

"And you found this little titbit on extranet, just like that?"

Lox's answer carried a hint of humor.

"Unlike C-Sec, I know what to look for, lieutenant."

We made the relay jump without any problems and for the first time in real life I saw the Citadel. If the Mass Relay made me feel insignificant, then the Citadel made me feel utterly superfluous. You could probably carry Mt. Everest on the back of the Ascension, and the dreadnought itself was dwarfed by the space station it guarded.

The damn thing was huge and bristling with life. The Citadel arms were opened wide and there was a constant traffic of larger and smaller ships coming and going. In front of the station I could clearly see the starships of the Citadel Defence Fleet with 'Destiny Ascension', the pride of the Asari navies, at the very front. It sent a clear message to any newcomers – 'You are welcome here, but if you make any trouble you'll be dealing with our dreadnoughts. Remember to check the gift store on your way in. Or else'.

I was definitely here to make trouble, if not so overtly as a dreadnought to the face, but first things first. I turned to the digital presentation of Lox – he still retained his shining blue silhouette, but now it was more subdued. To an untrained eye he looked like nothing more than a regular ship's VI. Virtual Intelligences were rarely employed on smaller vessels, but 'Coronado' was a private ship and if needs be I could play the role of the young and rich eccentric who 'needed' one to function through everyday life.

"Can you book me an appointment with Mr. Massani?"

Lox tilted his head at me with a small smile.

"Of course, but what makes you think that he will want to see you, lieutenant?"

I smirked. Generic and overused it might be, but that line was just too perfect.

"It's quite simple, my artificial friend. I will make him an offer he cannot refuse."

Apparently, if his deadpan tone of voice was any indication, Lox wasn't impressed with my witty response.

"You have never seen 'The Godfather' trilogy, lieutenant."

I looked slightly defensive at that. The worst accusations are the ones that are true.

"Well… I have seen the first half of the original film." I stammered, embarrassed.

"Yes. Once. In 2003." The bloody AI was enjoying himself way too much. How was it even possible that he remembered such irrelevant details from my old life? Then again, as an AI he quite literally had a photographic memory. I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised. But then again, what was a rather piffling detail like that doing in the Confederacy's file on me? Was my life up until this point so boring that they had to shove filler in to make up the space?

"Well fuck you too, Lox." I said, annoyed. "The crux of the matter is, that I can give Mr. Massani the help he needs in getting back control over the Blue Suns. In return, we will have the resources of the private army at our disposal, which will help us greatly in preparing for the Reapers."

"I understand that, lieutenant. But please bear in mind that even if we manage to help Mr. Massani, he will have no obligation to assist us."

My eyes had grown cold. I spoke quietly but my voice carried a dangerous edge.

"Zaeed Massani will help us in our mission. If he fails to deliver I will dispose of him and we will find someone else who will."

What was really scary, I really meant it when I said it. After a moment or so I smiled slightly at the AI's apparition and said in an amused manner.

"Of course, I am certain that Mr. Massani will turn out to be a responsible and business-minded individual. He will surely see the benefits of allying himself with us – if only for the reason that it will increases his chance of surviving what is to come."

"It is not my intention to 'rain on your parade' lieutenant, but I am quite certain that a person like Zaeed Massani would require more than just your honest word to take you seriously." I could detect hints of scepticism in the AI's voice.

I nodded thoughtfully at that and turned my armchair fully toward Lox.

"Lox, I will need to you to prepare a special data-package for me..."

As our corvette slowly entered the inbound traffic to Citadel I presented my plan to the artificial citizen. It wasn't perfect by any stretch, but I would do anything it took to get Massani and the Blue Suns on our side. After all, a mission was a mission.

* * *

Despite the long wait on the inbound traffic lane we had no problems with docking – all the paperwork prepared by the Security Branch checked out with C-Sec without any issues. According to the documents I was a trader with my own ship who hit it really big on the edges of Citadel Space and now I'd come to the Citadel itself to blow off some of my money. I had no outstanding warrants, no prior conflicts with the law, not even a traffic ticket. In fact, it seemed a bit too perfect for my taste. Back on our Earth such spotless credentials would be raising red flags and ringing alarm bells, but I'd been living for over a decade in the constant shadow of real and imagined terrorist threats. Contrary to us, the species in the Citadel Space had entered the age of peace and prosperity, ever since the end of the First Contact War, when the Systems Alliance went to war against the Turian Hierarchy.

Problems in the Terminus Systems were mostly offhandedly dismissed, not dissimilar to the way people in Europe in the 21st century regarded civil wars in the Third World. Occasional clashes in the Skyllian Verge to people living on the Citadel were distant border skirmishes between Batarians, who were thought of as nothing more than space thugs and Humans, who were considered loud, primitive and warlike. Slaver raids were not even worthy of a passing mention on the news ticker at Citadel News headquarters. It would change in the years to come, but for now it was what it was.

One way or the other, the complacency of the security forces worked in my favor. I left Lox aboard the ship and after a quick check-in I was allowed to enter the space station. I had to do my best to fit in with the crowd, so the Security Branch had prepared in advance a couple of outfits that would not look too out-of-place. This time I wore one of those short-sleeved jumpsuits that starship crews seemed to favor. As a personal touch I wore my leather biker jacket – I wanted to look professional enough for Massani to speak with me, but not too formal, lest he think I was with the Alliance. Either way would be working against me.

Zaeed Massani agreed to meet me in Chora's Den. Choosing a strip-bar might look unseemly for a business meeting, but it was perfectly clear to me why the old mercenary did it. Chora's Den was a shady joint run by the local crime lords and it did not require its patrons to surrender their weapons on entrance. Additionally, it had one main entry point that could be easily covered should it turn out to be a trap and I was sure that Massani knew his way around it to quickly vacate the premises if need be. A good mercenary always chose the home ground advantage.

I tried not to look threatening, but I had my knife and my sidearm hidden under my leather jacket. It was also bulky enough to hide the body armor chest piece that I wore should things go south. I did not expect to get into any fights, but it was better to be safe than sorry. As I approached the entrance to the bar I noticed that it was guarded by a krogan bouncer.

As I played the video game I always thought krogans to be the one of the better designed models – unlike with quarians or asari it seemed like they actually put some thought to make them look alien, but not too outlandish. Nevertheless, as I was inspected by one of the krogans up close I could really appreciate how threatening they looked in real life. The veritable mountain of muscles and scales towered over me as he asked the obvious question.

"What's your business in Chora's Den, kid?" his voice had a tone of warning to it.

It was another thing that I failed to realize, but which in hindsight seemed quite evident. When the Security Branch put me in my 21-year old body they did not take into consideration that I would not look too serious to anyone. As far as the krogan was concerned I could be just another underage schoolboy trying to sneak in to get a stiff drink and gawk at the naked girls. Not that he cared about it being illegal of course, but if the bouncer could fuck with you just for the shits and giggles he would do so.

Offended or not, I was not here to make a scene. On the other hand, being meek and obedient would get me nowhere with the outlaws, seeing as they valued ruthlessness and power above all.

"Just getting in, doing my shit and getting out, mate. Why, you writing a book or something?" I was being deliberately impertinent. I could only hope that my gamble paid off.

But the krogan bouncer seemed to have a sense of humour. He snorted at what he thought was my foolish bravado and waved me in without further problems. I was rather relieved that he hadn't taken it personally. Training be damned, if a krogan decided to take me on one on one I wasn't sure which one of us the cleaning crew would be scraping off the ground.

I entered the bar and looked around. A smile appeared on my face as I took note of loud electronic music and dancing girls. Frankly, I did not frequent go-go bars in my previous life. Not because of any prudishness on my part, but it simply seemed like a waste of time for no real gain. The one or two times that I'd been it just seemed like everyone employed there just wanted to grab your money and run – certainly not a great or positive impression. But here, in one of the shadiest places on Citadel I decided that I might have to re-evaluate my opinion on these establishments.

In the first Mass Effect, the game engine didn't have enough processing power to properly show the colors and sounds of the place and as usual reality put the video game to shame. Chora's Den was lively and incredibly loud, but all of the patrons seemed to be having a really good time. The girls weren't just pole-dancing – they were also moving about the club chatting up the people and making sure that no one felt left out. Refreshments were served by the bartenders at an astonishing rate, and a few pairs of the 'employees' were practically moulding themselves into each other at the dance floor. For all its bad rep, I could see why Chora's Den was so popular around the Citadel.

I scanned the room searching for Zaeed. I finally noticed him sitting in the corner in what I recognized as a tactically sound position. He sat with his back to the wall and he kept his eyes on the entrance. He must have noticed me the moment I entered. When he saw me looking at him he nodded without a word. Without further delay I approached his table, making sure that he could see my hands at all times – the veteran merc was as paranoid as they come and he would not hesitate to shoot me if he had any doubts about the deal.

As I sat down he seemed to measure me with his mismatched eyes. We did not shake hands – in the grey world of the freelancing mercenaries a handshake could carry with it a poisonous syringe. Rather ironic actually as I seemed to recall, the origin of the handshake was a display of being unarmed. Empty handed so to speak. Or maybe that was just a line from Terry Pratchett. Either way, poison wouldn't be appreciated on either side of the table.

"I assume you are Dubois?" As expected, he went straight to the point.

"Yes, Mr. Massani. Let me just say that it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are quite famous in certain circles."

That he was – a ruthless mercenary or not, the man was quite a maverick. I know that Galtieri was greatly impressed with Massani's record as a freelancer. This man ate impossible missions for breakfast and we could definitely use him on our side.

"Look kid," Massani interrupted me with an impatient wave of his hand, "You look like you're about twelve, so let me get something straight. I agreed to talk with you because you sent me some money in advance, but if you don't tell me what's this all about then this conversation is over. My time is precious, youngster. You had a pair on you to talk to me personally, so I will give you one more chance to explain – don't waste it."

The last sentence was said in a dismissive manner, but I knew better than to disregard the unsaid warning. Massani was a walking and talking one-man-army and he wasn't someone to be trifled with.

"Mr. Massani, I represent a certain group of individuals who are willing to employ you on a long term basis in an advisory capacity, so to speak. We are also aware that you were the person who originally established the Blue Suns private security firm. We believe that the Blue Suns could become an asset in our endeavours."

That got a wry smile out of Zaeed.

"If you are so well-informed then you should also know that I'm no longer with the Blue Suns. We had certain disagreements in the past, mainly concerning the inclusion of the Batarians into the ranks of our outfit. As any civil organized body we respectfully discussed those differences. When the decision was put to a vote I was overruled and thus parted my ways with my dear partner Vido Santiago. From then on I ceased any and all association with the Blue Suns private security organization."

It was my turn to smile as Zaeed glossed over the fact that he was executed and nearly killed by his ex-associate. For a man who claimed that his desire for revenge was what drove him forward he was incredibly calm about the whole thing – I guess that such level-headiness came with age and experience. I decided that the Mass Effect video games did not do this man justice.

"Yes sir, we are aware of that fact. We also believe that Blue Suns ruling body was too hasty in their decision to remove you from their ranks."

Zaeed seemed to enjoy our subtle double-talk as he leaned in and asked, "So, what do you and your associates propose to do about it? The management's decision was final at the time."

"We have certain means at our disposal that would put Mr. Santiago in a position that would make him re-evaluate his decision to exclude you from the Blue Suns management."

The old mercenary scratched his scarred chin in thought.

"And what would happen to Vido?"

I smiled at that and it wasn't a pretty smile.

"He could be persuaded to step down from his current position. Preferably six feet under, Mr. Massani."

The last sentence I said with complete seriousness, mirroring exactly how I felt. Sure, in a perfect world you could save everyone, but the real world was far from perfect. You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs and if putting a bullet in Vido Santiago's head was to secure me the help of Zaeed then I was perfectly fine with that.

Zaeed leaned back and took a sip from his tall glass. My eye scanned his drink and found it to be non-alcoholic. It seemed that this man was taking no chances and I admired him for that, since such qualities would come in handy in the future. The man was an ultimate survivor. With him on our side even if we could not exactly fight the Reapers, then at least make sure that enough people lived to see the end of the war.

"Alright, Mr. Dubois – color me interested. But you know that I have to question whether you can deliver on your promise. Santiago is a bloody coward and he hides behind his Batarian janissaries more often than not."

He spat this sentence with vitriol that showed the true depth of the hatred he had for the man. I understood that no matter what happened, Vido Santiago was as good as dead. But the mercenary was still talking.

"You would need an army to get to his hidey-hole, wherever he is right now. How do you intend to do that?"

Security Branch had its own intelligence network and finding out where Vido Santiago was would not be difficult. He had an army at his disposal, we had the multiverse. It was no competition – it wasn't very fair, but in this line of work, unfair and in your favour was exactly what you tried to achieve.

"Mr. Massani, believe me when I tell you that we can deliver him to you tagged and bagged."

"And what if you can't?" inquired the mercenary.

"If we fail at our task, then you lose nothing and continue as you were. You will never hear from us again." I answered truthfully – even the seemingly easiest missions could result in failure. With people like Zaeed Massani you couldn't just promise the moon to them. He was a professional soldier and expected an honest assessment of the task.

Zaeed seemed to ponder my proposal, but I could clearly see from his body-language that he had already decided. Just like any other man in this business he liked the investments where risks were not his to shoulder.

"Let's pretend for a moment that you can get me Santiago, which will allow me to get back at the helm of the Blue Suns. What do you get out of this?"

It wasn't suspicion that led him to ask me about it. Galtieri drummed into my head that no favours came without strings attached and Massani was well aware of that fact.

"Once you regain control of the Blue Suns' assets we will offer your company a long-term contract that will require it to withdraw from all other commitments, be it body guarding, weapons smuggling or slave trading."

Mentioning the most illegal Blue Suns' activities was a calculated move. I wanted him to know that I didn't mind the fact that these things happened as long as they ended. The Confederacy's bureaucrats would swallow the bitter pill of working with the mercenary outfit – even worse compromises were made in the past. But they would never agree to work with people who profiteer from slavery or drug-dealing.

"And what about the batarians in the ranks? Do you want me to get rid of them?" asked Zaeed, knowing that it was the point of contention in the past.

I shook my head at that. I was pretty sure that Massani personally didn't care if the mercenaries he employed had four eyes or not, but he was aware that some people took exception to the fact that Blue Suns employed batarian troops in such huge numbers. Not to mention the fact that any one of the batarians the Blue Suns employed could also be on the Batarian Hegemonies payroll.

"On the contrary, Mr. Massani. After all, your PMC became a safe haven for the Hegemony's dissidents and gave them tools to fight back against the oppressive regime of Khar'shan. Or at least that's what would happen should you take control of what is rightfully yours."

Despite his gruff and seemingly crass exterior Zaeed Massani was far from dumb. He quickly caught on to the full meaning of what I said. He raised his eyebrow and whistled quietly. He seemed rather impressed with my words.

"You want to use the batarians in the ranks of the Blue Suns to destabilize the political situation in the Hegemony. I change my mind lad, you don't have a pair on you – it's a full quad. I hope that your 'associates'", he did the annoying air-quotes to emphasize the word. "Are fully aware that it could backfire like a mishandled grenade launcher, including a full-blown war. If it comes to the worst a lot of people, including the Citadel Council and the Alliance, could end up with bloody noses and they will be looking for guilty parties. They will send out Spectres and N7 after you, laddie. And have no illusions – they will find you and put you down. I can respect your bravado, but I won't be sinking with you."

I sighed deeply, not really caring whether Massani noticed or not. I knew the risks, or at least I thought I knew them. But no amount of training and conditioning can prepare you for the fact that millions of lives were at stake. For his entire money-first attitude Zaeed Massani was fully aware of the possible repercussions and I could clearly see that he did not take them lightly.

I schooled my features and looked the old mercenary in the eye. On his face I saw something akin to pity, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. But I got the gist of it – this grizzly veteran saw the place I was in and he understood it. I responded with full conviction.

"I am fully aware of the risks that I'm taking here, sir. Believe me that I will do my best to minimize the possibility of the exposure. No matter what happens please be advised that no harm will come to you or to people under your command. Whatever the Citadel's reaction may be, I will take full responsibility for it."

Having said that, I did not expect Zaeed Massani to laugh out loudly at my statement. He almost choked as he tried to contain his mirth. I guess I should have been embarrassed, but I was more curious about what was so funny to him.

The old man was so loud that patrons from the tables around us looked at us with contempt, which obviously did absolutely nothing to stop Zaeed from laughing. He was the type of guy who didn't care what people thought of him anyway. A couple of turians and humans at the table next to ours said a few less than respectable words about us, our relationship and virtues of our mothers. Still waiting for Zaeed to calm down I paid them no attention. Being in the middle of a conversation that could influence the lives of trillions tended to focus you on the important things.

Finally, after two minutes of continuous chocking, spitting and guffawing Zaeed fell silent. He wiped his teary eyes with the back of his gloved hand.

"My god, lad – that was one of the funniest things I've heard in a long time. You should be doing commercials for the Alliance Marines – 'Be all you can be! Sir, aye aye, sir!' Words of advice Dubois – free of charge. First of all, drop this 'sir' attitude when dealing with the Suns. Most of the boys and girls served in the military at one time or another. You won't get anyone impressed with the good, obedient soldier-boy routine or getting a hard-on when listening to the national anthem and jerking off to the flag. Blue Suns have been there, done that and were not very amused with it."

I nodded quietly at that – when Zaeed Massani tells you something, you'd better be listening.

"Second of all, I can see you're with the military, but your routines are all fucked up for it to be the Alliance. You step about differently, like you had other drill instructors than the Alliance Marine Corps. The Alliance soldiers wear their sidearm on the left hip with the grip facing forward, so they can reach with their right hand across when quick-drawing. Yours is on the left thigh, grip backwards, so you could theoretically grab it with your left hand – if you were left handed, which you seem to be. But it's a different tactical drill than the Alliance is teaching its men. Who exactly are you, kid?"

I was impressed with his deductive skills, as this type of knowledge could only come with years of experience and careful observation. My awe at the old mercenary's skill also left me vulnerable, because he struck me when I was still processing everything he told me. I could see him move – my eyes were upgraded just like the rest of my body – but I did not have time to react. In a split second Zaeed Massani was by my side, the barrel of his pistol digging into my belly, just under the flak vest. He was smiling widely and to any outside observer we just seemed like two buddies supporting each other in a drunken stupor.

I had done exactly what I'd been trying to avoid, and overplayed my hand. Admittedly in a fashion rather different from what I'd assumed would happen, but quite possibly fatal all the same. From the beginning I'd thought that I was in control of the situation, but it was the old mercenary who had me cornered. This man was like a spider sitting in his nest and I was but a hapless fly who flew into the trap. I thought I was convincing him so I just kept talking more and more, while he was testing the grounds, observing my every movement. When the trap was set he sprung it on me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

But I wasn't completely helpless. My flak vest had the integral shielding installed that covered all of my body. While I would still be wounded, the mass accelerated shavings would not kill me. Also, Lox was observing me through the Citadel's monitoring system and he had sent a drone after me. This drone placed itself under an electronic cloak and hovered just below the ceiling of Chora's Den. It now activated its laser designator, which was aimed at Massani's forehead. I looked directly at the drone and slowly shook my head, hoping that the signal was understood.

Zaeed followed my line of sight and noticed the blurred silhouette of the assault drone. Despite himself he smiled and said, sounding impressed, "Well, look at you, Dubois. You came more than prepared, but we seem to have found ourselves at an impasse. How about you tell me what kind of arse-grabbing piece of a ploy you're creating here and I will consider leaving you with both of your bollocks intact?"

To confirm his words he pressed in the barrel of his pistol more forcefully.

If it happened three months ago, I would have emptied my bladder now. But I wasn't that man anymore. I lived through the worst of Galtieri's memories and I had some horrible memories of my own, thanks to my 'forceful' interrogation. Despite the seemingly hopeless situation I knew what I had to do. The only thing that could salvage this disaster was maintaining a clear head and choosing my words very carefully. I looked at him with a slight smile and said quietly, still maintaining our 'drinking buddies' cover.

"Mr. Massani, I came to you with an honest offer, which I might mention still stands. All we asked in return was access to the Blue Sun's assets for which you and your men would receive a lucrative payment. Even the protection I came under did not warrant such an attack."

"Kid, you show up out of nowhere with knowledge of things you have no business knowing. Your offer is simply too good to be true. Who are you?"

"My name is Peter Dubois and I hold the rank of lieutenant in a paramilitary organization. I can't tell you more than that here, Mr. Massani, because the walls in the Chora's Den have ears. Do you know a place where we can talk uninterrupted?"

I doubted that anyone here would believe what I had to say, but I was not taking any chances now.

The old mercenary grabbed my sidearm and attached it to a magnetic strip on his armor. He tilted his head to the side, signalling me to walk toward the exit.

"There is a place where we can talk, Dubois. It's also a place where I can dispose of your body, should I not like what you have to say. And you better call off your watch dog too, or else my trigger-finger just might slip."

His palm twitched in general direction of the drone. I nodded slightly as we left Chora's Den. I couldn't help but notice that despite his hostile actions, his tone of voice carried no anger towards me. Zaeed Massani was on the job now as he led me at gunpoint, it was nothing personal. It made me realize that for this ultra-paranoid merc it was simply just another day at the office.

I scanned the club's interior as we walked and I hoped that I would live to get a private lap-dance from one of the asari girls. You may think whatever you want about me – I truly felt I deserved it.

* * *

**A/N:** **As usual, Dubois is stuck between the rock and the hard place. He has to deal with some questionable people to achieve his goals and at times it will bite him in the ass. Stay tuned for more!**


	14. Chapter 7 - Walk Into The Fire, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 7. The first meeting with Zaeed Massani didn't go according to the plan, so now it's up to Dubois and his bullshit skills to make it right. This part is about 7k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

Despite my difficult situation I could not stop my growing amusement. Could you believe that of all the nooks and corners on the Citadel, Zaeed Massani chose to lead me to the exact same back alley where in more than ten years' time, Saren's thugs would set a trap for a quarian admiral's daughter – Tali'Zorah nar Rayya? Seeing as I was a glorified Self-Insert and she tended to be paired-up with SI characters only added fuel to the blazing fire of irony. Oh well, even if I died here I'd be able to say that I saw some famous game spots. It had to count for something, no?

Zaeed pushed me lightly toward the large trash container aiming at the center of my body with his pistol. My own sidearm was still securely attached to his armor. Despite his threatening manner, he was still a professional merc through and through – he did not manhandle me needlessly. When I gathered enough wits to inquire about it, he simply quoted Winston Churchill at me.

"Even if you need to kill someone, it costs you nothing to be polite."

That obviously did nothing to improve my disposition, but I'd looked death in the eye so often in the last few months that I did not really feel as threatened by it as I probably should have been. As time passed I recognized how reckless and carefree I was at the time with taking risks. I knew that I had no family or friends that anyone in Mass Effect galaxy could threaten me with.

"So Dubois, in this back alley there are no monitoring cameras. Fist has an agreement with some of the agents in the C-Sec – they don't see anything of what happens here and he cleans up after himself and gives a monthly payment to their retirement fund. We can make use of their accord for our own purposes, what do you say?" he said conversationally.

It seemed like Fist was much smarter than the game fans gave him credit for. Not smart enough to stay loyal to the Shadow Broker as any person with half-brain would do, but not a complete dunce either. You don't build a full money-laundering brothel under the noses of the C-Sec without greasing a few hands and getting at least some measure of protection from local law enforcement.

"What do you need to know, Mr. Massani?" I responded promptly. For some reason I did not feel threatened by him in the slightest. It was as if I knew that he wouldn't kill me here, even though it was a distinct possibility at the time.

"Who are you, Dubois and who do you work for?"

"I am Lieutenant Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, 3rd Battalion, 213th Infiltration Brigade, sir."

For some reason I kept adding 'sir' to all my sentences even though Massani distinctly told me not to do that. Deeply ingrained habits die hard, I guess.

"I served with the Alliance Marine Corps and the Special Forces for five years, Dubois and I've never heard of 213th Infiltration Brigade. The name sounds like part of their Naval Intelligence, but they haven't got any brigades within their structures. Who do you work for? Some Alliance black operations, I guess? That sounds about right."

"I'm afraid that's privileged information, Mr. Massani." I said with a shake of my head.

"You're not helping your situation, lad. Whatever clusterfuck you're trying to organise here, I can smell the bad stink from a mile away. What do you need the Blue Suns for? Even with that prick Santiago in charge, I won't let these people die for no reason."

So Zaeed Massani still held some sort of loyalty to his old outfit? I filed that observation for future use. I just looked him in the eye and repeated my previous statement.

"I just said that I can't tell you that, Mr. Massani. But it doesn't mean that you won't learn about it. Are you familiar with the Asari Mind Meld techniques?"

He was still aiming at me as he responded.

"Sorry kid, but you have too much hair and not enough boobs to be an asari, so the mind meld is out of question. Besides, even though I'm flattered I don't swing that way if you catch my drift."

I didn't even react to his jab. I raised my right hand and told him, "Touch my hand, Mr. Massani and everything will be explained."

I took a step forward toward the mercenary, still looking him straight in the eyes. He raised his pistol to a prepared firing position and warned me.

"One more step kid and you're history."

I stepped forward once more and few things happened all at once. Zaeed fired his pistol at the center of my body mass, my shields absorbing the force of the shot as the shaving bead fell harmlessly to the floor. The cloaked drone fired a concussion beam at Zaeed, which most of his personal shields absorbed too, but it gave me a split second window to strike. Before the distracted mercenary could press the trigger once again and do a proper double-tap I jumped in his direction and grabbed the wrist of his left hand, which he used to support his weapon arm.

Neither Lox nor I had any idea how Zaeed Massani would react to a sudden data-transfer. It might cause no adverse side-effects or leave him with a slight headache. It might as well cause his neurons to overcharge and leave him completely brain-dead. My knowledge-transfers were painful, but they were never life-threatening, other than the issues with memory overwrite. But my new body was specifically prepared to accept them and it was still physically young. Zaeed on the other hand would be reaching his 50th birthday in a few years and his body had never experienced a data-transfer before. For the first time I gambled with someone else's life, the few military exercises notwithstanding and I couldn't bring myself to care. I was just doing what needed to be done for the betterment of the Multiverse, right? Of course I was.

Zaeed dropped his sidearm and fell down. I managed to grab his dropping body mid-fall and ease it down to the pavement. The orange glow of my wrist-comp (omni-tool, damn it!) still surrounded my right arm and a blue beam of light that went out of it connected to Zaeed's forehead. Having never seen data-transfer performed on someone else I did not know whether it was supposed to look like this or not.

My omni-tool beeped twice and a small wormhole formed in the back alley. Lox in his Terminator chassis stepped through; in his hands he held a plasma-coil submachine gun. He approached swiftly and squatted down next to us, his hand already scanning the unconscious mercenary. He turned to me and said quietly, "Lieutenant, Mr. Massani's vitals are off the charts. I strongly recommend ceasing the data-transfer immediately, otherwise we risk losing him altogether."

I looked back at his skull-like 'face' with a serious expression. Were the people who designed his android chassis completely blind to the fact that he looked hostile and dangerous? It couldn't have been made to look like that on purpose.

"Negative, Lox. We maintain the data-transfer until it's 100 percent complete. That was the plan, and we are sticking to it." I responded coldly.

The current amount of transferred data might be sufficient to get Zaeed on our side, but I was taking no chances. As we were stuck in the inbound traffic jam, waiting to dock on the Citadel, we spent an hour or so preparing a carefully edited data transfer. It glossed over details regarding myself and the Confederacy, but it contained everything we had on the Reapers and the threat they presented to the galaxy. If that wouldn't make the mercenary change his mind, nothing would.

"It is my duty as the ship's medical officer to remind you that should Mr. Massani expire you will be held accountable, lieutenant. He is considered vital to the strategy agreed upon by the General Staff of the 213th Infiltration Brigade."

It was a warning, even though I did not begrudge Lox his words. It was his job as a second in command to question my decisions after all.

"Understood. Maintain the data-transfer, Lox. Let it be noted that I take full responsibility for the consequences of this decision."

The android's red, Terminator-like eyes bored into mine as he answered crisply, "Acknowledged, lieutenant."

We didn't say anything afterwards as we squatted in the dingy back alley near Chora's Den. Lox kept monitoring Zaeed's vitals, holding an adrenaline syringe in his hand just in case, while I scanned both entrances to our hiding spot to make sure nobody was coming. It wouldn't do to get ambushed by Fist's thugs now, however unlikely that was.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, my omni-tool ceased the data-transfer and the blue beam of light dissipated. The android's hand moved above the unresponsive mercenary's head scanning for his vital signs. I waited with trepidation for his diagnosis. Lox turned toward me once again and said.

"Mr. Massani is only unconscious. His vitals have stabilized, but he will need some rest before we can wake him up."

Relieved, I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding. For some strange reason, the possibility of a video game character dying bothered me more than my own death. As I got up and gathered my bearings I issued my orders, "Take him to the med-bay on 'Coronado', Lox. Open the worm-hole and get us there, along with the drone. We can't be seen dragging an unconscious man. C-Sec has monitoring cameras everywhere. We would have one of their patrols on our asses in no time."

"Acknowledged, lieutenant. May I inquire as to what are you planning to do now? Despite the data-transfer I cannot help but think that Mr. Massani will remain hostile to us. After all, we are unlawfully detaining this man."

I smiled at him.

"Zaeed lives for his revenge on Vito Santiago. The idea of killing the man that wronged him is the force that drives him forward. I will deliver him Vito Santiago tagged and bagged as I promised and it will secure us Zaeed's loyalty."

"This is not the scripted video game that you played, lieutenant. There is no guarantee that Zaeed Massani will remain on our side, even if we remove Mr. Santiago from the equation."

"We will never know if we don't try, Lox and we haven't got time for pussyfooting. The Reapers are coming and our job is to minimize the damage done to this galaxy. Whether we like it or not, we will step on someone's toes more than once. Let's go!"

I picked up my pistol, which was still attached to Zaeed's armour. I was glad that he was too distracted to notice that it wasn't the mass accelerator design otherwise he would have been even more suspicious of me than he already was. I also picked up the single shaving bead that Zaeed managed to fire at me – as I inspected the small projectile I recognized how lucky I was that it failed to penetrate my defences. Meanwhile the AI opened another worm-hole and in a few seconds we were back aboard the corvette.

As Lox carried the unconscious mercenary to our small med-bay I sat at the pilot's armchair and activated the connection uplink. I was determined to go after Vido Santiago and it was high time to call for some backup. I would need my squad to roll out again.

* * *

Orbit above the planet Acheron (LV-426)

Hourglass Nebula

Terminus Systems

We'd been observing the cloaked drone for about an hour now, operated by Specialist Salmia Fahri. Her careful movements kept the drone, directly under the ceiling of the vessel's corridors, out of sight of the crew and away from the monitoring devices. My squad was armed to the teeth, seated in the loading bay of the 'Coronado', waiting for the Specialist to map the interior of the cruiser. The heavily armed ship belonged to the Blue Suns, so we took our time and paid close attention to the drone feed as Aberswythe and I took notes. The preparations were always the most tedious and uninteresting part of the combat mission, but they were also the most vital. Careful planning and well-rehearsed execution saved lives and beat improvisation on any day.

We were deep in the Terminus Systems, orbiting one of the worlds that was largely controlled by the Suns. The planet was called Acheron, but the formal Citadel designation was LV-426. The Blue Suns had a few mining operations here, which provided raw resources for the whole star system. To my surprise they even had proper miners there – one would expect them to use slaves. They also operated several repair and conversions shipyards. They were maintaining the Blue Suns' respectable fleet and repairing ships for clients who did not want to show up in Citadel Space for one reason or another. Vido Santiago might have been a soulless bastard, but he had knack for making good business decisions. He knew exactly where and when to invest to get the best profit margin. The Blue Suns under his leadership had diversified from a rather straightforward private security company to a multi-planetary conglomerate that provided services that ranged from heavy industry to wholesaling pharmaceuticals and that's excluding their less-than-legal undertakings. Obviously, their most important and most invested branch was still the security, but others had been generating steady income over the years. If it were possible I would have kept Santiago as a Chief Financial Officer, but I knew that Massani would never agree to such a thing.

Still, it made taking control of the Blue Suns assets all the more crucial for my long-term plans. Their mining operations located here would provide us with a steady influx of raw materials. Their repair and conversion shipyards could be easily upgraded to fully-fledged construction docks if someone invested a respectable amount of money in it – and money was one thing which External Affairs Bureau had in spades. While I was certain that we would have the Blue Suns withdraw from their current undertakings in slave trading and smuggling illegal materials, their other branches would be maintained. Company owned heavy industry with the Confederacy's liquid assets and know-how would provide us with the stable base of operations in our future campaigns against the Batarian Hegemony and finally the Reapers. If the situation allows it, I would prefer to turn the Blue Suns into a quasi-government in parts of the Terminus Systems. As they said, it's better to deal with the devil you know and all that.

That was for the future, though. The ship we were currently infiltrating was named 'Omega Blue' and it was a former turian light cruiser. It was supposed to be decommissioned and scrapped early due to the problems with its mass effect drive core, but it was sold on the open market instead – Turian Hierarchy's administration despite its meritocratic approach was by no means free of corruption and greed. The Blue Suns purchased it on Vido Santiago's insistence, as he believed that as a Vice-CEO (or whatever he called himself these days) he should have his own flag vessel. The Blue Suns invested heavily in upgrading the armaments and armour of the cruiser and they even replaced the faulty drive core with a state-of-the-art engine. No matter what they did with the 'Omega Blue', though, it was no match for the technology that the Confederacy possessed – the difference between us and them was simply just that large. Warping in with the cloaked drone was child's play for Specialist Fahri.

Technological superiority or not, those were nerve-wracking hours all the same. The slightest mistake on our part could alert the security detail, force the vessel into a lock-down and send the alarm signal to other ships stationed in the area. Our job was to infiltrate the vessel quickly and decapitate the command center of the Blue Suns, by taking Vido Santiago hostage. If we succeeded in this mission, it would allow us a seamless transition of power, just like Vido did with Zaeed all these years ago. Blue Suns troopers were good at what they did, but they were loyal to the pay checks they received. They couldn't care less about the identity of the person that signed them.

Finally, Specialist Fahri signalled that she was done. We now had a holographic display on one of the briefing tables that showed us a simple map of the corridors in 'Omega Blue' mapped by the drone. Sergeant Aberswythe used it to mark places of interest such as areas suited for possible ambush and visible choke-points that would allow us to box in the Blue Suns security squads should they be alerted to our presence. Once we were done the Senior NCO gave me a silent nod and I turned toward Corporal Steven Kowalski – our covert infiltration specialist.

"Kowalski, you're up first. We will open the wormhole that will place you in the vicinity of our drone. From there you will proceed up to the bridge where our target is presently located. Maintain cover and avoid enemy contact unless there is no other choice."

I pointed at one of the corridors with a blinking dot.

"This is the insertion point. You will have support in the form of two additional cloaked drones with light weaponry. This is the basic route." A blue line indicating the straightest path toward the cruiser bridge was highlighted at my behest. "It will take you directly to the target. Once there you will give the signal for the rest of the squad to deploy. There are also alternative routes should the primary one was inaccessible." A green line and a red line appeared on our 3D-map. They were much less straightforward and thus less desired – time was of the essence.

"Is everything clear, corporal?" I asked, just to be sure.

Kowalski, ever the man of few words when on the job simply nodded.

"Crystal, el-tee."

Kowalski had foregone his light machinegun in lieu of suppressed weaponry – a PDW and a pistol. He also wore the light Interceptor Armor with an in-built cloaking device. As he stood in the middle of the loading bay I signalled Specialist Fahri to open the worm-hole. She didn't even look up from her screen as she manipulated her cloaked drone into one of the smaller rooms on board of 'Omega Blue' and activated the device.

The small worm-hole swallowed the crouching Kowalski, who appeared immediately on our 3D map in one of the storage rooms on the Blue Suns cruiser. His indicator started moving instantaneously along the blue line, only stopping a few times at the intersections.

I moved toward one of the screens which showed Kowalski's helmet feed. I was very impressed with his abilities as he expertly avoided all the cruiser's crewmembers. True, the Blue Suns felt quite confident seeing as they were among friendly ships and near one of their most important spaceports, but their security was still extremely lax. None of the mercenaries on guard duty left their posts, most of them either playing cards, talking or simply sipping on some beverages as Kowalski passed them by like a shadow. Even the vessels of the Confederate Merchant Marine, which had a reputation for being very liberal when it came to security measures, would not allow such an obvious lack of discipline. Obviously, it was one of the issues that should definitely be addressed if we succeed in our mission and re-establish Zaeed Massani as a leader of the Blue Suns.

In fact, their security was so relaxed that the good corporal didn't have to leave the designated pathway even once. As he crouched by the door he used his wrist-comp to access the holographic door lock. At the same time Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov uploaded one of her viral programs through Kowalski's wrist-comp to the Blue Suns network. It gave us direct access to their power grid, which we quickly used to turn off the lights on the cruiser's bridge and adjacent corridors and open all doors accessing the bridge. Through Kowalski's helmet feed we heard shouts of surprise and anger from the crew.

As Kowalski slipped through the now opened door we noticed Vido Santiago himself cursing and shouting at one of the ensigns.

"Another goddamn power cut! This is the third time this week! Get on the horn with the fucking engineering and tell them that if they can't fix it properly, then they can all look for new jobs starting tomorrow!"

Kowalski reached one of the corners of the room and gave us the signal we agreed upon earlier. He whispered through his subvocal receptor, "Code Jessie is a go. I say again – Jessie is a go." I decided to name our small combat op 'Jessie' in honour of Massani's infamous Avenger rifle. It just seemed fitting.

This time there were seven more wormholes appearing around the sides of the cruiser's bridge, as we all went in apart from Specialist Fahri who maintained drone overwatch and Gunnery Sergeant Polyakov who kept eye on the cruiser's power grid. The moment we all appeared inside the command room Gunny Polyakov accessed the vessel's VI and closed all doors to the bridge. Two shots were fired – Sergeant Major Aberswythe and Corporal Freeman took down two armed guards – a turian and a human – that were stationed on the bridge. I stood up from my crouching position and said loud enough for everyone in the room to hear me.

"Everybody, drop your weapons now!"

The Blue Suns naval crew did not have to be told twice, after registering what happened to two security guards. Their paychecks did not cover dying when they were given an option to surrender. The closest to me – a young batarian navigator – dropped his pistol like a hot potato and knelt on the floor without any hesitation. He blinked owlishly at me with all four of his eyes, clearly fearing for his life. It almost made me laugh, but I also felt sorry for the lad. After making sure that my squad had everything covered I said to him quietly.

"Don't worry, mate. We're not here for you."

The batarian navigator nodded dumbly, fear in his eyes replaced with hope that maybe, just maybe, he might survive this crappy day.

I left him on the floor and approached Vido Santiago. Contrary to Zaeed's contemptuous opinion of him our target did not cower behind any bodyguards and he didn't seem to be afraid of us, despite our sudden appearance. He was also clearly unfazed by the fact that we'd just seized his bridge crew as hostages, preoccupied with eyeing our unfamiliar weaponry and armour. He gave me a calculated look as he addressed me with a lazy drawl.

"If this was your idea of getting my attention, then you succeeded. Blue Suns need people like you in our ranks, mister. We can offer you and your team a competitive salary, full health coverage, possibility of further promotions and as much coffee and booze as you can drink every day."

His sales pitch was actually pretty good and I had to give props to a man who would not give up on recruiting you, even when you held a knife to his throat. I answered with a short laugh.

"As interesting as it sounds, Mr. Santiago, I'm afraid that I have to refuse."

"You seem to know me, but I don't know you, mister…"

"It's Lieutenant Dubois." I supplied helpfully. "And we are here on behalf of someone who is just dying to meet you again. He's an old friend of yours I believe, and he will be joining us shortly, Mr. Santiago."

The timing couldn't be more dramatic even if I tried. As I was saying that, a large worm-hole formed in the middle of the room and Zaeed Massani stepped out of it. He still wore his rusty armour and his eyes shone with the fire of well-controlled anger. He had his Jessie mounted on the back of his armour and he held his pistol in his right hand. He gave me a quick look, but I didn't know whether he recognized me in my full body armor. He slowly approached Santiago's armchair. Vido's eyes widened in recognition and for the first time this evening I saw something akin to fear in them.

"Well, well, laddie. It seems like you made good on your word after all."

There was no grand ceremony, no famous last words and not even the last cigarette – this was not Zaeed Massani's style. He simply walked up to Vido Santiago, raised his pistol and put two bullets in both of his eyes – probably for the sake of irony. Two sharp shots rang out in the in the confined space of the cruiser's bridge, but neither us nor Blue Suns flinched. Each of the pellets came out of the back of the mercenary's head with blood and brain-matter splattering the wall behind him. Santiago's body slid off the chair and I saw a large puddle of blood forming on the floor. Out of habit I came up to Santiago's body and checked for a pulse on his carotid artery. I wasn't surprised to find none.

As I turned toward Massani I saw that he had his pistol aimed at me now. Out of the corner of my eye I saw half of my squad shift their assault rifles and aim them at the old mercenary.

"You just can't take 'no' for an answer, can you Dubois?" Zaeed was aiming at me, but he sounded more amused than angry.

"What can I say Mr. Massani? I guess I'm like a bad penny."

"I admit that at first I wanted to break your neck, just on principle, Dubois. But then I took some time to process this mind meld bullshit and well – those Reapers don't sound very friendly somehow. And I admit that the squad you have here are proper professionals that can deliver."

He eyed Santiago's cooling body and said.

"You got me my revenge and I can see that you want to put me back in charge of the Blue Suns. It would be awfully ungrateful of me not to help you out now. After all, how often can you save the world, lieutenant?"

'You would be surprised, Mr. Massani,' is what I silently thought. Nonetheless, I smiled at him as he lowered his pistol and attached it to his hip. My men lowered their weapons as well, but they still kept their eyes peeled to all the entrances to the bridge. If I ever had any doubt that they were the best squad in the whole brigade, they were gone now. I was also updated by the Specialist Fahri, who monitored the corridors that some of the Blue Suns security sections joined us, standing outside of the doors . They were stacked up by the entrances, but they did not appear hostile so far and they did not enter the room.

Zaeed seemed to be aware of the precarious situation we found ourselves in. He turned to one of the crewmembers who cowered by the communications console.

"Who is in charge here, soldier? Who was Santiago's second in command?"

The redheaded human female stammered at that.

"Uh, that would be, uh Commander Tarak. He is in charge of the Acheron District, sir."

Zaeed nodded thoughtfully and said to me with a grin.

"That's good. I've met him a few times and he's a good officer, for a batarian. At least Santiago had enough brain to place someone competent in charge of the operations here."

The name Tarak sounded mildly familiar, but I would have to check my tablet later to confirm it. I signalled my team to watch the door, and allowed the bridge crew to return to their stations. We had stripped them of their sidearms by now – they might have been cowed so far, but they still outnumbered us by a rather large margin. There were also the security detachments still standing by the door to worry about. If we let them overpower us before Zaeed managed to re-establish himself as a clear successor to Vido Santiago then all we'd done here would be for naught.

Meanwhile, Zaeed turned back to the woman he was talking to. She sat back at her communications console and watched him expectantly. The old mercenary checked his omni-tool.

"Are you the Communications Specialist here?"

"Yes sir, Comms Operator, Corporal Tabitha Rakehal, Signal Corps."

"Alright, Corporal Rakehal, call Commander Tarak and put him on my line. I have to inform him that a small changeover had occurred in the company's top management. From this day onwards Zaeed Massani takes Vido Santiago's position as Co-Executive Officer of the Blue Suns."

So Santiago's position was just that of a Co-Executive? Although seemingly a demotion from his previous duties it actually made a lot of sense. By placing the batarian – Solem Dal'Serah – in the spotlight, as he did after removing Zaeed from the company, Vido could still have influence over the executive decisions. But unlike his batarian counterpart he remained in a relative obscurity and out of harm's way. In addition, the batarian executive would be an incentive for other Hegemony mercenaries to join up with the Suns and they could be put to tasks that humans or turians would refuse to do. Santiago had it pretty well planned, I had to admit.

I took a moment to look around the bridge and I noticed that a few of the ranking mercenaries did not seem too happy with Zaeed putting himself in charge. I could hazard a guess that many of them remembered the circumstances under which the veteran mercenary was expulsed from the Blue Suns. Zaeed was respected among the old guard for his initial contributions to the company, but it was Vido's leadership and business sense that brought the Blue Suns wealth and prosperity. I was also sure that his objection to hiring batarians in force did not endear him to the aliens. If Zaeed tried to purge the Blue Suns of non-humans they would resist him.

Nevertheless, whatever happened now, it was out of my hands. My squad and I put Zaeed Massani in a position where all he had to do was grab the figurative crown lying in the gutter (or rather in Vido's blood and brain-matter). I hoped that the old mercenary had enough sense to alleviate the fears of the Blue Suns, as we could hardly afford the manpower drain or, even worse, the open conflict. At the moment the mercenary troopers didn't seem hostile, but everything depended on how Zaeed handled his conversation with Das'Maral Tarak, commander of the Acheron (LV-426) Military District.

Corporal Rakehal opened comms for the bridge of the other Blue Suns vessel. On the screen in front of Massani appeared the face of a batarian officer. I wasn't affluent in knowledge of batarian physiology by any stretch, but even I could recognize in Tarak the veteran that he was. I also remembered him as the batarian officer who was in charge of hunting down Garrus Vakarian, when he was the Archangel on Omega. Tarak wasn't looking at the camera at the moment, as he was speaking to someone off-screen. He was in the middle of the sentence when the audio caught up.

"… Don't know what happened there. There is a complete comms blackout aboard 'Omega Blue'. I want an armed team on stand-by. If we can't hail them in ten minutes we are sending our men in."

"That won't be necessary, Tarak." said Massani.

"Belay that order!" The batarian barked at his unseen subordinate not noticing the opened channel yet. "I've got someone from 'Omega Blue' on the horn. Whoever's there, identify yourself!"

Tarak took a single look at his own screen and did a surprised double take as his eyes widened comically.

"Zaeed?" He asked incredulously.

"No. I'm the geth and I just came from beyond the Perseus Veil." The old mercenary answered sarcastically to an astonished batarian and added smugly.

"This 'Omega Blue' is a fine ship. The discipline among the crew is a bit on the loose side, but nothing that Massani Boot Camp wouldn't fix." It seemed like the marine detachment of the cruiser was in for a world of pain and misery.

"What are you doing on 'Omega Blue'? Last I heard you were blowing up bases in Terminus Systems? Where is Vido Santiago?"

Zaeed gave a quick look to Santiago's lying body and answered wryly.

"Seeing as I'm here and he's not you can take a wild guess where he is. Let's get to the point, Tarak. I have a team that is currently in control of the bridge and Santiago is dead. I could simply take what is mine, all of Vido's liquid assets and leg it. But I started the Blue Suns with that bastard and I still care about this bloody company. I received a very lucrative proposal that would put a new wind to us. And by that I mean to all of us – including you, Tarak."

I could nearly see the cogs in batarian's head starting to turn as he processed what Zaeed told him. Tarak leaned into the camera and said shortly.

"Explain."

"There are certain people that are willing to throw money at us and all we have to do is withdraw from our few less-than legal ventures. I am talking a proper and long-term government contract, Tarak! Forget scrapping it together from guarding fat businessmen and their bitchy daughters! Forget smuggling slaves and guns for those smug lowlifes in Terminus! The Blue Suns could finally be all that we ever wanted it to be."

But Tarak remained unimpressed.

"I respect you, Zaeed. You started this company and everyone that matters knows that. But Vido gave us a good run. We've grown big and we're only growing bigger now, government contracts or not. And I didn't forget that if you stayed in the company I wouldn't be where I am now." He finished on a cold note, his face serious.

Tarak had actually made a good point and I was curious to see how Massani handled himself. Zaeed's refusal to hire batarians in numbers was still a sore spot for many of them and they now constituted about a third of the total workforce. I could see that all Blue Suns aboard the 'Omega Blue', and probably on Tarak's vessel as well, were listening intently right now. I kept my fingers crossed for Zaeed, but I was beginning to wonder whether I'd bet the house on a right horse in this race.

Meanwhile, my horse growled and gave a good impression of an angered tiger.

"We've all made mistakes in the past, Tarak. I was afraid that by hiring so many batarians we would become dependent on the Hegemony's goodwill. It didn't happen. Yeah, Santiago was right and I was wrong – even a broken clock shows the right time twice a day. I'm not here to dismantle everything you have built so far. I'm not even here to piss on Santiago's legacy – my beef was with him, not with his accomplishments. But I know that the Blue Suns have what it takes to be the best private fighting force in this goddamn Galaxy. Are you going to say no to the money, Tarak?"

The Commander of the Acheron Military District gave us all a contemptuous smile.

"You know me better than that, you old bastard. I was dealing in slaves, guns, Red Sand and teenage prostitutes. You know I'll do everything for good money – even become an honest citizen. You can count on my support, Massani. Many of the regional commanders still remember going to fight at your six as do I."

Everything seemed to be under control and I decided that it was a good time to interrupt their conversation with the issue that was bugging me.

"Commander Tarak, what about Solem Dal'Serah?"

I'd already taken off my helmet, seeing as we were out of danger at least temporarily and also so Tarak could see me clearly. As the batarian briefly looked at me with a raised eyebrow, I cursed, not for the last time, my youthful appearance.

"Is that some new boy-toy, Zaeed? I thought the asari were more of your thing." He asked with a chortle.

Zaeed barked a quick laugh and responded amusedly.

"It's Lieutenant Dubois. He is the one who pays our bills from this day forward. Don't underestimate the kid, though. He got a good drop on me and on Santiago too."

It appeared that by beating up the mercenary – which was actually more due to pure dumb luck, than any particular skill on my side – I'd gained some rep with him. I really missed my home sometimes; everything there was reasonable and normal and I didn't have to beat up people so they would give me the time of the day.

The batarian officer shrugged and responded to my question.

"Solem Dal'Serah? Zaeed and I can convince him. He doesn't care about the sources of the Blue Suns money as long as he can get a good fight once in a while and Vido delivered him just that. And if he doesn't want to play ball… well I was long overdue for a promotion."

At times the Blue Suns felt more like a Byzantine palace than a simple PMC. The last thing I wanted now was unnecessary bloodshed (it generated so much paperwork!), but if the push came to shove I would make Solem disappear. I simply nodded at the smiling batarian, acknowledging his idea.

It would be a real shame to kill Solem, though. As far as I'd read about him he was a solid field commander. Unfortunately, at the moment the commanders' loyalties were far more important than their skills. Solem Dal'Serah was in fact one of the Hegemony's golden boys back when he served in the Batarian Navy. He had an unfortunate habit of sleeping with the wrong women though, and that cost him his carrier when he bedded the daughter of an important Asari Matriarch. She agreed to avoid the public scandal under the condition that Dal'Serah would never again set a foot aboard the Hegemony ship, hoping to break the career of the horny, four-eyed bastard who'd deflowered her little princess. Fat load of good it did when Solem joined the Blue Suns where he was swiftly promoted by Santiago to a much higher position than he ever held in the Batarian Navy. Later on, the Matriarch's daughter ran away with him to the Terminus Systems and they were together since then, still going strong.

So yeah, call me a hopeless romantic, but I wasn't particularly keen on killing the man, even though he probably had tons of innocent lives on his soul.

Lost in my wandering thoughts I nearly missed the exchange between Tarak and Zaeed. Both men agreed to land their flagships and meet on the planet surface to discuss their plans in-depth. Both human and batarian turned in my direction and gave me a questioning look.

"We'll be there." I said simply.

I turned to Sergeant Major Aberswythe and said, "Let's bring the 'Coronado' around and get back on board."

As my squad swiftly gathered their bearings and returned weapons to the previously disarmed crewmembers I took a last look at Zaeed. He was still in a deep discussion with Tarak and he was completely immersed in his new task that he wasn't paying any attention to me. Two LOKI mechs came to the room to clean up the remains of Vido Santiago and the two shot security guards. As I looked at the Blue Suns slowly returning to their posts I felt like we'd finally achieved some small victory.

And if any of you are wondering how it feels to play the kingmaker, let me just tell you – it feels very damn satisfying.

END OF CHAPTER 7

* * *

**A/N: So here it is, the conclusion of Chapter 7. There was a little bit of action in it, but mostly hard negotiation - as much with words as with bullets - but such is the life in the shady world of mercenaries. Stay tuned for more of Multiverse Effect and hope to see you again in Chapter 8!**

**Have a good one!**


	15. Chapter 8 - Divide and Conquer, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the first part of Chapter 8. Dubois must now deal with the consequences of the Blue Suns takeover and it's not going to be all sunshine and daisies. This part is about 6k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Divide And Conquer**

_If you must break the law, do it to seize power: in all other cases observe it._

_Gaius Julius Caesar_

* * *

Repair and Conversion Shipyard 'ARGO'

Planet Acheron (LV-426)

Hourglass Nebula

Earth Year: 2172

"That about sums it up, ladies and gentlemen." I concluded.

When I was done talking, the atmosphere in the small conference room was so thick with tension that one could almost cut it with a knife. The men and a woman present eyed each other apprehensively trying and failing to process what they were just told. The only person completely relaxed and at ease was Zaeed Massani as he stood by the wall with folded arms and observed the proceedings. Apart from him and myself there were other important Blue Suns officers present. The most important was obviously Commander Das'Maral Tarak, in charge of the Acheron Military District, but he'd also brought two other officers with him. The first was Lieutenant-Commander Arien Loray, a permanently scowling woman with short, dark hair and an even shorter temper from the colony on Eden Prime. Loray was the overseer of the Blue Suns mining operations in the area. The second was Lieutenant-Commander Quintus Orelan, a scarred turian with unusual colony markings that my eye-app could not place. He was a naval officer turned mercenary, who was in charge of the shipyards on Acheron, 'Argo' being the primary facility.

There were also two civilian contractors present in the conference room: Rudolf Colley, a human and the chief executive of Stalwart Shippings, a local transport company which doubled as logistical support for the Blue Suns and Lar'kai Valdorf, a batarian who owned and ran Valdorf Metalworks, the largest metal processing conglomerate in the star system.

Neither of the Blue Suns officers looked very happy with Zaeed's presence – or mine for that matter. Nevertheless, they were disciplined soldiers and they trusted Tarak's judgment on this. I was glad that Zaeed had managed to convince the batarian commander to support us, otherwise our campaign for getting the Blue Suns assets would have been a very short lived one indeed. The civilians didn't care either way about the changeover – for them it was all the same who signed the paperwork in the end. They were here to ensure that the Blue Suns' contracts with their companies would not be declared _null and void_ by Zaeed. For Colley being the Blue Suns logistical support was a large part of his company's income, while Valdorf's steel mills and processing plants were dependent on the supply of raw materials from the mines controlled by the mercenaries.

Finally, the uncomfortable silence in the room was broken by Lieutenant-Commander Loray as she turned her face to me with a scowl.

"You can't honestly think that we would believe this load of pyjak dung, Dubois?"

I smirked at her condescendingly.

"What I presented to you has this rather annoying trait of being a fact and not dependent on your personal beliefs, lieutenant-commander. No matter how inconvenient the Reapers are to us, they still remain a threat. The question is: what are we going to do about them?"

Looking around the table I reached into my side-pocket and pulled out my holo-tablet. It contained the same, heavily-edited data package that Lox and I had compiled and forcibly inserted into Zaeed's head.

"You can all ask Mr. Massani here and he will vouch for it. This tablet contains data concerning the Reapers and the threat they present. All you have to do is to put your palms above it, which will enable the data-transfer."

The flanged turian voice interrupted.

"I have never heard of such technology, apart from an asari mind meld, which is directly tied to their biotics. Can you ensure us that this is safe?"

"Mr. Massani had the same technology used on him and it left no lasting damage – our medical officer ran full scans afterwards. I also had this type of transfer used on me on multiple occasions without any unwanted side-effects." I lied easily.

"I lost my consciousness for a couple of hours at least, kid." Said the old mercenary, still clearly displeased with the way I handled his knowledge transfer.

I turned back to Zaeed with a strained smile, seeing as he was not helping the situation.

"You were under duress at that time, sir." I made a note of addressing Zaeed respectfully when among other Blue Suns. I didn't want to undermine his still shaky position in the organization. "I have full confidence as well as the confirmation of our medical team that data-transfers are perfectly safe."

Commander Tarak looked at Zaeed for a moment and the mercenary gave a barely perceptible nod. Apparently it was the only confirmation he needed and the batarian was the first to sit at the table. His officers were still uncertain but he motioned for them to follow, which also convinced the civilian contractors to do the same.

As their hands hovered above my holo-tablet I clicked the confirmation key and started the data-transfer. Unlike Zaeed where I was pretty overwhelmed by the situation, this time I actually had time to observe the procedure from the third person perspective. A thick, light blue beam erupted from the tablet and it split into five smaller rays. Each of them travelled through the outstretched hands of the Blue Suns and directly into their heads.

I had to admit that they took their first data-transfer much better than I did, my condition at the time notwithstanding. The two civilians were shaking a little, but they kept their hands steady. The mercenary officers on the other hand absorbed the knowledge with a stoic patience, only their eyes moving rapidly under their closed eyelids betraying their strain.

Zaeed stood next to me and asked, "Did your first transfer feel like this too, Dubois?"

I cringed, remembering the scorching needles piercing my brain and the metal hand clamping around my throat. This and the thirty-six-hour interrogation were one of the memories that I could do well without.

"No, Zaeed. My body was not suited for transfers at the time and they were very painful."

"And how many did you have?" He asked, either not noticing or not caring that I lied to the Blue Suns officers.

"Quite a few." I answered curtly. For the sake of my continuous sanity I did not wish to pursue this topic anymore.

The mercenary nodded quietly and returned to watching the sitting Blue Suns. At this moment the light beam flickered and disappeared and the people sitting around the table looked as if they had woken up from a deep slumber. They were all a bit dishevelled, but not the worse for wear.

Lieutenant-Commander Arien Loray was, unsurprisingly, the first to speak once again.

"Well, fuck." She said eloquently

"Couldn't have put it better myself." Muttered Lar'kai Valdorf, all four of his eyes skipping between me and the holo-tablet. I could see that the destruction of the Hegemony by the Reapers left a lasting impression.

"There are so many of them. And the way they just tore through Earth's planetary defences. The Sol System is probably the most secure capital star system out there and they went through it like a charging krogan through pyjaks." Added a visibly shaken Rudolf Colley.

"There is a fleet of literally thousands of centuries old dreadnoughts just waiting to jump us." Tarak's voice was level, but his face was grim. He folded his arms and he stared at the holo-tablet as if everything that happened was its fault.

"I understand that the Reapers are a terrifying enemy, but we have more than a decade to prepare for the war. And they don't know yet that we know about them and that gives us a vital edge in the fight." I said with a confidence that I didn't feel.

Lieutenant-Commander Loray replied to my attempt at reassurance with a very sharply delivered query, "So, what is your stake in this, kid? What do you get from sharing this knowledge with us?"

I ignored her condescending tone of voice. Thanks to my intensive training I had become fairly competent at reading peoples' facial expression and I recognized that she hid her own fear behind her abrasive personality.

"I have no stake, lieutenant-commander. I simply follow orders, just like anyone else."

The turian officer was much more pragmatic about it. He turned toward me and asked, his sub vocals adding the melodic undertones to his serious voice, "This 'Confederacy' that you're a part of, are they going to send out some help? Decade or no, the Blue Suns simply don't have the manpower to mobilize on the scale you're talking about. We will need your help."

"And you will get it. The 213th Infiltration Brigade of which I am a part of will be supplying us with instructors, technological know-how and liquid assets."

Quintus Orelan looked at me as if he saw me for the first time, his mandibles hanging down in shock.

"A brigade? You have the resources and manpower of our galaxy multiplied by a thousand and you are committing a single brigade to help us?" He said slowly, as if he could not believe his own words.

Now everyone was looking at me including Zaeed whose eyes I could feel boring into my neck. Perhaps letting them know about the Confederacy's capabilities wasn't the best idea in the world, but then how could I have explained my foreknowledge of what is to happen?

But I was expecting such a question – it had been brainstormed during my training very often. We even had a prepared data-sheet with answers to questions that were bound to arise in the course of my mission. Still, reciting the memorized answer didn't make me feel any less like shit.

"The Reapers have no way of putting the Confederacy's citizens in harm's way and as such they do not warrant the mobilization of the Confederate Armed Forces. The Multiverse Parliament only allowed a limited insertion to your universe. I am also hereby lawfully obliged to remind you that what you have learned here today is considered strictly confidential and on a need-to-know basis. Failure to comply will result in a complete cessation of any interaction from the Confederacy's side and a full withdrawal of any promised support."

My weak resolve reared its ugly head once again. I probably should have just strong armed them into obedience, but I wanted to avoid that. Instead, I tried to make them understand the threat to their galaxy, but at the same time it caused me to reveal too many of my cards. They were cowed for now, but how long would it last?

I sighed and shook my head, noticing their dismayed expressions. I leaned on the table slightly, trying to gather my wits, seeing as I had to play the devil's advocate now.

"Look, I don't like the situation any more than you do. But the Confederacy's voters will not allow us to start a long military campaign in a minor universe – no offense intended – which has a high probability of bringing thousands of their sons and their daughters' home in coffins. In short, my people don't care and we have to do the best we can with the tools at our disposal."

To my surprise it was Zaeed who came to my support. He stood by my side and eyed the people on the table.

"I remember the Blue Suns being sent in with no support before. Granted, the threat is larger now than it's ever been. But so are we. I think all of us here can agree, it's better than being oblivious."

"Wasn't it the humans who said that ignorance is a bliss?" asked Quintus jokingly.

To the untrained eye, it might have looked like it was humour that had defused the situation. In truth it wasn't the joke that calmed the swiftly forming storm around the table. Despite the sudden change in leadership, Tarak hadn't lied when he'd said that anyone whose opinions mattered still believed in Zaeed. The Old Guard's word was respected, and at the moment the word coming from between their lips, was 'Massani'.

It was heartening that the common threat temporarily put the differences between Zaeed and the Blue Suns to a back-burner. I had no illusions though, that the moment they felt less threatened it would quickly resurface. I hoped to be very far away from them if that ever happened.

"So what is our next move?" I asked wearily.

It was Tarak who responded.

"For the moment we consolidate our forces. We still have to convince Solem Dal'Serah to your idea, lieutenant and it won't be easy. Some changes that you propose, like withdrawing our assets from the slave trade will not go well with him."

"Why is that? The funds you will receive from the Confederacy will more than cover any financial losses you might sustain from losing the slave trade."

"Dal'Serah is a batarian from a very high-caste. If it weren't for the political manipulations of Matriarch Tyviana he would be an admiral in the Hegemony Fleet by now. He may not like the fact that the Hegemony dropped him for political convenience, but he still holds many old batarian traditions dear. One of them is slave ownership – it's a matter of pride to him."

Oh joy! Now I had to deal with the alien equivalent of American slaveholding gentry – will the wonders never cease? If the high-born batarians were similar in any way to the old ruling class of the Deep South then discussing the issue of slavery with him would be like punching a brick wall. I pinched the bridge of my nose, already feeling another headache on the way.

"What about you then, gentlemen?" I asked eyeing the two batarians at the table. "How do you feel about the issue of the slave trade?"

Tarak shrugged at that.

"I don't care one way or another. When you are from a lower caste, like me, then your situation is no better than that of the slave. I never fought the status quo when I lived in the Hegemony, but I won't die to preserve it either. As far as I'm concerned we should go where the money is."

I saw Zaeed nod with appreciation at his words. Meanwhile I turned to Lar'kai Valdorf.

"And what is your opinion on that?"

The businessman looked at me with speculation. The four eyes boring into mine felt really disconcerting.

"My company has no stake in the matter at hand and we will not suffer any financial losses either way. At the moment we only care to keep the contracts we have with our Blue Suns counterparts if Mr. Massani would be so gracious."

As he said that, he eyed the old mercenary with a naked suspicion. Zaeed responded with a predatory grin that would make a lesser man cry. It seemed like they were in for some tough negotiations.

As for their attitude concerning slavery… well, I don't know what I was expecting. The Mass Effect fanon always made a very big deal out of slavery and the fact that Batarians still engaged in it. But once you were already here it seemed like most of the people were pretty apathetic to the whole issue, unless it affected them directly. True, there were people who were very vocal about ending the slavery and the batarian ruling class swore that they would defend it with their lives, but even in the Citadel Space it was simply accepted as just another fact of life. The Hegemony equals slavery – end of story, nothing to discuss there. I mean, the Batarian Hegemony was stonewalled by the Citadel because they attacked one of the asari colonies, not because of their internal practices of sapient servitude or their totalitarian political regime.

It was a sad state of affairs, but one that was quite familiar at the same time.

After that there wasn't much for me to say anymore. The Blue Suns and their subcontractors still wanted to discuss the finer points of managing the company, but it was Zaeed's problem now. I used it as an opportunity to excuse myself and leave the conference room.

* * *

I walked through the facility responding to the salutes given by mercenaries with quick nods. I went to the guest room that was provided to me, compliments of Commander Tarak. I opened it with a wave of my omni-tool and scanned its spacious interior, as usual checking for escape routes and good hiding spots. As I did that I remembered Kowalski's professional infiltration and my squad's exemplary conduct. I wondered what they were doing now.

My team was sent back out to Confederacy space immediately after the conclusion and debriefing following our mission. Sergeant Major Aberswythe recognized how lucky we were with what we pulled off on 'Omega Blue'. Vido was pretty confident in his security and the discipline of the Blue Suns marines left much to be desired. It was only their initial shock at our sudden appearance and Zaeed's quick call to Tarak that prevented the bloodshed that was sure to occur otherwise. I admit that our infiltration and assassination was a daring plan, something worthy of Zaeed Massani himself. The British SAS motto was 'who dares, wins', after all. Nonetheless, after a lengthy discussion we decided that all future insertions would require more boots on the ground and at least some sort of naval support.

Despite informing the Blue Suns management who I really was I still had to keep a low profile, so the less Security Branch troops were here, the better. As far as the crew of 'Omega Blue' was concerned my team was simply some freelance group of contractors hired by Zaeed Massani to help him kill Vido Santiago and it suited our purpose just fine. Any questions concerning the wormhole technology were quickly silenced by Das'Maral and Zaeed.

It also meant that I had the room all to myself. The Blue Suns were a very wealthy company and their guest rooms were opulent to the point of extravagance. I could appreciate the royal bed just like any other guy, but a private bar? I mean – a simple fridge and a cupboard would be perfectly sufficient to provide whatever drinks anyone would need. The room was also very bright and the large screens on the wall provided a very accurate illusion of a tropical island outside. Despite the room being mostly made of metal, there was a rich carpet on the floor. It really looked more like a luxurious hotel suite rather than a guest room in a shipbuilding facility.

I shook my head at the wasted money and resources that could have been put to a better cause. Then again, if you're rich then who can stop you from doing whatever you want with the money?

I took of my armour, which I didn't have time to remove since yesterday, leaving me only in the snug skinsuit. As I packed my armour I heard a commotion in the adjacent bathroom. Narrowing my eyes I grabbed my pistol and stealthily moved toward the locked door. I doubted that the facility had room service or maids, so I could take a wild guess, and assume that whoever was inside was not supposed to be there. If it was an assassin sent by the Blue Suns then he was mighty incompetent at his job.

Leaning by the wall next to the bathroom door I used my omni-tool to open it. I swiftly aimed my pistol at the person inside.

"Put your hands up and turn toward me. Very slowly"

It was a female, or rather an asari. She wore nothing but a ridiculous pink towel wrapped around her mid-section. She looked scared half to death as she eyed my gun with fearful expression.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" I asked coldly keeping my finger on the trigger. She was an asari so she was bound to be a trained biotic. Her state of undress could be a simple distraction technique. But what would an asari commando be doing in the Blue Suns facility in the first place? Had my cover already been blown and the Citadel Council sent their Spectres after me?

"I'm… I'm…" she stuttered, trying to respond to my question. She was hyperventilating, too.

I lowered my pistol slightly, seeing as she was completely terrified, but I still kept it ready to fire.

"Take a deep breath and answer my question." I tried and failed to make it sound reassuring. I couldn't take any chances, though.

"I was sent here by Mr. Zaeed Massani to tend to your needs, sir! He said you would know what he means by that! He said you were talking!" her high-pitched voice verged on the edge of panic.

Well, at least that made some sense. When we killed Vido Santiago and were preparing to land the 'Omega Blue' Zaeed was in great spirits. He asked me in jest if I'd ever slept with an asari, to which I admitted truthfully that I never had. The old mercenary said then that he would see what he can do about it, since apparently it was the best thing ever or some other crap.

It was just the regular bullshit talk though, and I'd completely forgotten about it myself. But now it seemed like Zaeed wanted to stay true to his word for some reason. Maybe he was grateful for my help?

I sighed and turned on my heel to go back to the room. I opened my armour locker and deposited my pistol there, along with my skinsuit. The asari was still terrified as her eyes followed my every step. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to leave this room, but she stayed put.

"So who are you?" I asked her awkwardly as I changed my clothes to the regular jumpsuit.

"My name is Faira Laertis and I was sent here to tend to all your needs, sir."

I paused in the middle of zipping up my jumpsuit and looked at her.

"Are you a slave?" I asked suspiciously, noting her attire or lack of thereof.

Zaeed was fully aware what my opinion on slavery was. I agreed to tolerate it for the time being – we had bigger fish to fry – but I won't be taking part in it in any shape or form.

The asari seemed offended by my question though and it showed. She maintained her demure pose, but her eyes burned with anger. It brought a small smile to my face – there was a personality there, behind the calculated smiles, after all.

"No sir!" she responded with force. "I work at the 'Vega Star'. It's a gentleman's club near the starport, sir."

I raised my hands defensively.

"I apologize. I meant no offense."

So she was a 'professional entertainer'. That explained how she got to my room – the Blue Suns mercenaries would know her. I decided to check it out with Zaeed still. Patricia's warnings about our enemies using females to gather intelligence were still in the back of my head.

"I just need to make a quick call, so help yourself to a drink if you wish. The bar is over there." I said to her as I moved away to make the call in the relative privacy of the bathroom.

As Faira opened the bar and checked out the bottles, I used my omni-tool to hail Zaeed. The gruff mercenary answered after a moment, clearly displeased that I had the gall to bother him.

"What is it, Dubois? Don't tell me you got lost in the shipyard."

"Zaeed, there is an asari whor… working girl in my room. Would you happen to know anything about it?" I asked sweetly.

"Ah, yes. She's from the 'Vega Star', and let me tell you – they have the best girls this side of the Terminus Systems. They are nice, clean and very, very expensive. I paid up-front for you, so no slapping, beating or chocking her. Remember Dubois – you break her, you bought her."

At the mention of beating and slapping I felt a chill to my stomach, but I responded evenly.

"Don't worry. I understand. I will talk to you tomorrow." I said as I disconnected the call.

When I entered the room once again Faira was sitting on the couch with a glass of some blue liquid. The asari prostitute also put on some loose fitting gown in lieu of her towel. She was completely composed now, the frightened girl from before was gone – in her place a smiling, confident woman. She motioned to an empty glass that stood at the bar.

"Would you care to join me, sir?"

I smiled at her tightly, but it didn't reach my eyes. Zaeed's words still reverberated in my ears as I walked to the bar.

'No slapping, beating or choking her…'

What kind of people was he associating with?

I could see that it wasn't the first time she'd visited the facility. Mercenaries were notoriously paranoid and they would not drink anything supplied by a stranger when they were alone. She clearly understood this unwritten convention seeing as she'd left the empty glass, so I could fix my own drink.

I poured a glass of the same blue liquid as I turned back toward her.

"Do you know what sort of alcohol this is?"

That professional smile again.

"It's a Thessian Blue Wine, a specialty of the asari wine-makers. It is made from fruits similar to your grapes that were cultivated on Thessia and other asari colonies for centuries. The one that you're drinking now is one of the best of its kind and a very expensive brand."

Obviously the Blue Suns would buy the most expensive ones to entertain their guests, I thought wryly.

Taking a sip of the drink I tasted it, and found it alright. It had a sweet flavour though, and I was never one for sweet wines, even the exotic ones. Give me a dry or semi-dry with a slice of good cheese any day. I smiled at the resurfacing memories – it was how Erica used to drink it. We didn't even bother with getting proper wine glasses, just some cups, because the glasses were too difficult to clean up. They were reserved for special occasions, like having guests. God, we were truly one lazy pair.

I felt another wave of nostalgia as I sat across the table. Despite all this time it still felt weird to think that I will never see my people again.

I ceased that train of thought immediately and it came to me with a surprising ease. I was getting better and better at compartmentalizing and controlling my emotions. It was all Zaeed's fault – if he didn't mention beating up prostitutes I would have never lost my control in the first place.

Lost in my wandering thoughts I almost didn't notice that Faira's lips were moving. I shook my head and asked her, "I beg your pardon?"

She gave me another of her fake smiles and repeated.

"Do you like this wine?"

This time it was my turn to force a polite smile, but it was getting easier with each try.

"It is alright for a sweet wine. I'm not much of a wine connoisseur, anyhow. And you?"

"Do I like the wine or am I a connoisseur?" she asked with an impish smile.

I chuckled slightly and took another sip before responding.

"Both, I guess." The asari wine did its magic. My muscles were already relaxing, which interestingly enough made me focus more. The state of relaxation was already so unusual to my senses that I was all the more alert because of it.

"Well, to tell you the truth – I don't see much of a difference between an expensive wine and a cheap one. Of course, in my school they taught us how to present different kinds of wines to different kinds of people. I had to memorize some two dozen types of them. It was a nightmare."

I laughed at that. Wine-tasting was one of the businesses that I would never understand. You either like the wine or not, what else do you need to know? Then again, I was always a man of simple tastes.

"And what school was that?"

"The Companion Academy. We were taught how to 'ease the pain of body and soul through the oldest of rituals'." She said with the sarcastic air-quotes.

"And by the oldest of rituals you mean sexual intercourse, obviously." I added snidely.

Seriously, I probably should have expected that from the asari. On the other hand, it sounded quite similar to what that chick from 'Firefly' did. It seemed like apart from pole-dancers and commandos asari exported luxurious whores too. Well, sex was something that the galaxy would always find money for, Reapers or no Reapers.

Still, Faira didn't seem to hold her former mentors in a very high regard.

"That's right. You wouldn't believe these women at the Academy – they were so sanctimonious about everything concerning sex that it made my blood boil. So one day I'd had enough of their bull. I stood up and told the Matriarch what I thought about her interpretation of the 'oldest of rituals'."

"What did you tell her?"

"I said that it's not much of a ritual if anyone can pay for it. Sure, sex is great on both physical and psychological levels, but ascribing some magical or mythical powers to it – you would think we had evolved past that as a species."

I gave her a short laugh. I could have only tried to imagine the reaction of a spiritual Matriarch to such crass words. Well, what she'd just told me what wasn't that crass. Just cheeky. But I was certain she had censored it for my benefit. If she was still remembering it all these years later, then she must have had strong enough feelings upon the subject to utilise some pretty harsh words with her teacher.

"I bet no one had ever told her that before."

"You're right. She started shouting and cursing me. She told me that as long as she lives I wouldn't become a companion."

"And what happened afterwards?"

She waved her elegantly manicured hand in a dismissive manner.

"I left the school. And that old bint died soon after from food poisoning."

I smirked – it was just too convenient for it to be a coincidence, but I didn't say it out loud. Faira's grim smile seemed to confirm my suspicions, though.

"What a shame," I said with dishonest concern, "that she never got to learn better."

She put down her empty glass and I poured some more into it. I refilled mine as well. It wasn't like I'd paid for the wine, so we might as well drink it. _Carpe diem_ and all that.

"So, what is your story?" asked the smiling asari. I didn't even notice when we started talking so familiarly, but I didn't mind either.

We clicked our glasses and I said, "It's nothing interesting really. I am just another soldier fighting my own war."

Faira raised her elegant eyebrow. Or was it the asari tattoo? I didn't know.

"'Just another soldier' received the living quarters reserved for Vido Santiago himself?"

Well, fuck. It really didn't seem right, now that she mentioned it. As much as I enjoyed the extravagant bar, it looked very strange for some unknown hired gun to get the best room in the whole facility. If a whore (sorry, a 'companion') could put two and two together then people like the Shadow Broker could do so too! I'd basically painted a target on my back. It was all water under the bridge now, but I would have to be more careful in the future. Still, I couldn't help but feel that this slip will come around and bite me in the arse in the future.

I smiled at her and said, "It's just for this one night. I did a very special favour for Vido and in return I got to spend the night here with you." I lied without a beat. Hopefully, if someone asked her about me she would tell them the same thing.

Vido's death was not widely publicized yet and most likely it would never be. The general public still had no idea about the previous coup d'état and as far as they were concerned Solem Dal'Serah had always been the leader of the Blue Suns. We aimed to keep it that way.

Faira seemed to buy my story, though. Or perhaps she didn't care whether I was honest or not?

Meanwhile, she put down her tall glass and stood up. She smiled at me slightly and approached my couch. Before I could comprehend what was happening she straddled my lap and started unzipping my jumpsuit as she lightly bit my earlobe.

I moaned at her ministrations, suddenly very horny and my previous feeling of fatigue gone completely. Faira knew exactly what to do to get the reactions she wanted. Comes with being an experienced Companion.

She whispered in my ear and I shivered at her sensual tone.

"Do you want it with, or without the mind meld?"

'Is that their equivalent of the 'condom question'?' I thought stupidly.

That still gave me pause. I admit to being curious about the mind meld and how it felt, which was apparently amazing if Zaeed's recollections were anything to go by. I knew better than to simply follow my base instincts, though. There was absolutely no way that I was letting a mind-reading prostitute take a peek inside my head. Too much was dependent on my foreknowledge and I couldn't risk her selling this information to the highest bidder.

My training and sense of duty prevailed over my burning curiosity. I smiled at Faira, taking in her beautiful face as I said quietly, "No mind meld tonight, thank you."

The asari nodded with a gentle smile and kissed me. She giggled like a schoolgirl as I picked her up in my arms and carried her to bed. Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow and to hell with the consequences. But now was not one of those times. Fate of the world and all that.

* * *

**A/N: So there it is. Our hero is not so heroic after all, but he's slowly learning that he can't really afford to be. The next installment will deal with the overall situation in the Acheron Military District, which means more headaches for Dubois. No one ever said that managing the war machine will be easy.**

**Have a good one!**


	16. Chapter 8 - Divide And Conquer, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 8 for your enjoyment. Still sorting out the whole Blue Suns situation and the Confederacy's bureaucratic machine rears its ugly head once again. This part is about 5,5k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor **

* * *

The next month was a haze of activity. Zaeed and Tarak worked overtime trying to bring in various Blue Suns commanders into their sphere of influence. They have been traveling all over the Terminus Systems, meeting various people, reorganizing the chain of command and ensuring the nervous subcontractors that no, their lucrative and mutually beneficial contracts with the Blue Suns PMC will not magically end with the management change. Most had been happy enough to accept the change of guard, though. There were a problematic few that resisted initially, fearing that Zaeed Massani would try and downsize the Blue Suns by getting rid of non-humans, but the old mercenary was always quick to debunk such claims. It also helped when immediately afterwards he would present them with their new salary slips. Money truly made the universe go round, especially in the shady world of private military companies where everyone and everything had a price.

Solem Dal'Serah was another matter altogether. He learned about Vido Santiago's death relatively quickly and he arrived to Acheron with the Blue Suns' 2nd Patrol Fleet, augmented by a battalion of Eclipse marines and some second-rate freelance auxiliaries. The fleet was orbiting the planet and threatening to unleash their firepower on us. We were contacted by Dal'Serah himself via the comms. The batarian was not happy to hear about the changeover and he made his dissatisfaction quite vocal over the communication uplink, when talking to Zaeed. After our explanations he simply flung a few insults our way and ceased the connection. That left us hanging with not much to do.

It was a very tense moment. I suggested to Zaeed that I could take my squad and get rid of Solem. I also advised him that thanks to the wormhole technology aboard 'Coronado' we could easily board most of the ships in the 2nd Patrol Fleet with loyal troops and overpower their crews. We had already brought a couple of Blue Suns units into our fold and we had more than enough people to spare for an operation of this magnitude.

The old mercenary looked at me for a moment with a serious expression and said tersely, "This is the Blue Suns business, lieutenant – we'll deal with it ourselves."

What happened later is still difficult to describe and comprehend. Zaeed contacted Solem once more and requested to meet him face to face. To my astonishment, batarian agreed to it. They decided to meet in one of the smaller facilities away from the main production hub to negotiate. It was a no man's land and both mercenaries could discuss their differences there in a relative peace.

I arrived with Zaeed and our escorts and we met Solem outside of one of the buildings. Massani and Dal'Serah shook hands and they entered the building alone, while the escorts were left outside. It was a tense hour outside of the compound as us and Solem's mercenaries eyed each other across the courtyard, ready to engage at a moment's notice. By the time Zaeed and Solem finally left the conference room I'd had to restrain myself from biting off most of my fingernails.

Solem signalled his troops to lower their weapons and we all relaxed our guard. The two mercenaries approached me and Zaeed introduced me to the batarian.

"This is the Lieutenant Dubois that I told you about, Dal'Serah."

I saluted the batarian commander as he inspected me with his unreadable eyes. It felt as if I was being measured by Dal'Serah and found lacking. Yeah, like that had never happened before. After a moment or so he said without any sugar-coating, "Zaeed told me about these Reapers that you showed him. I believe him, because for all his numerous faults he's not the sort to panic easily."

Solem Dal'Serah's voice carried a haughty tone and a slight lisp – or what my translator considered to be a lisp – which I learned later, was a typical thing for the Hegemony's upper-class. The batarian looked at Zaeed and added.

"I understand you want us to withdraw our assets from the Terminus Systems slave trade agreements for which we will be reimbursed?"

"That is correct," I answered curtly.

"You humans and your useless scruples are the most curious things on this side of the Milky Way galaxy." Solem said haughtily. "It is an inalienable right of the strong to police the weak. When the weak are allowed to rule nothing is accomplished, as they only squabble and argue among themselves. Just like it is on Earth, lieutenant."

He was obviously just trying to get a rise of me, so I decided not to take the bait as I responded evenly. Besides, he wasn't completely wrong on that, even if I personally preferred at any given day the Alliance's internal squabbles over the jarring, ideology-driven inefficiency of the Hegemony's ruling establishment.

"I respect your political opinions, Executive Dal'Serah, but my superiors will not abide with the slavery or drug dealing and neither will I. That is not negotiable."

He shook his head, deeming me (rightly so!) a lost cause for the Hegemony propaganda.

"I have also been told that you will be investing in upgrading our manufacturing capabilities and increase our fleet exponentially."

He smiled with contempt at my silent acknowledgement.

"And what happens then, lieutenant? Do you want us to fight your battles against the killer robots from Outer Space for a few measly credits?"

I raised my chin challengingly.

"You won't be fighting my battles, Executive Dal'Serah – if anything it will be the other way around. The Reapers are coming and it's up to you and your men whether you will be prepared to face them. The Blue Suns as they are now, are woefully unprepared for the war that is sure to come in a few years. You will need our money to build-up your military arm and the whole logistic background to support it if you wish to survive. I am here to help you along the way, but if you choose to disregard my warnings and ignore the helping hand when it is offered, then it's your funeral, sir." I ended on an impertinent note.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Zaeed grinning widely, while the batarian snorted.

"Few people have dared to speak to me in that manner and lived to tell the tale, Lieutenant Dubois."

"No disrespect intended, sir, but this isn't about money or slaves or even the Citadel Council anymore. It's about survival, pure and simple. I prefer to tell the ugly truth rather than make up some pretty lies."

At least I used to, before I joined the Security Branch. Nowadays, the truth was a very relative concept to me, but in this case it would have to do. Just like they taught me, I just had to choose wisely which truths to reveal.

Solem turned to Massani and said, "I like this one; he's got some guts on him."

Zaeed made a great show of measuring me with his eyes as he responded.

"Well it's the singular good thing about him. In fact, his guts are like a diamond on a pile of pyjak dung."

I rolled my eyes at Massani's ribbing and responded with an amused expression.

"Whatever you say, old-timer. I think that your arthritis will get you sooner than the Reapers do."

Zaeed grumbled something about disrespectful youngsters as was customary on such occasions.

I admit that I enjoyed the light banter that I engaged in with the Blue Suns. The mercenaries in general were much less formal than a regular military and their teasing was genuinely fun, unlike with Security Branch where everything had a deeper, less-obvious meaning.

Despite their less-than-stellar reputation I found that I honestly enjoyed the easy camaraderie of the Blue Suns. Have you seen that episode of 'Family Guy' where they show Imperial Stormtroopers talking about your regular every-day stuff, only returning to their work when Darth Vader passes them by? That was very similar to my experiences with the Blue Suns mercenaries.

I remember sitting next to two troopers (a turian and a human) right before deploying into one of the Blue Suns bases where we expected some resistance from Vido Santiago's loyalists – there was no trouble, but we didn't know that at the time. These two men prepared their weapons and armour for what we thought might be a life or death situation, while complaining about the school tuition for their children. I distinctly remember the turian mercenary grumbling in his flanged voice about the price of the traditional turian dancing lessons for his daughter. You just don't expect anything like that from the soulless and cruel Blue Suns. Sometimes I had to force myself to remember that these were the people who had no qualms about trafficking slaves or fuelling local wars to sell more weapons.

All in all, I was glad that Zaeed managed to secure Solem's support. It meant that I could now use my considerable Bureau contacts to start upgrading the Blue Suns tech to a reasonable level and to maintain the cash flow from the Confederacy's coffers, which would have been impossible had the PMC been torn apart by the internal strife. The Confederacy's Interversal Law Department had their hands full with the Blue Suns, anyway. Their employment created a true administrative quagmire the likes of which were rare even for the Confederacy's intricate bureaucracy.

According to the Confederacy's existing laws the state could employ private military contractors (like the Blue Suns) in advisory, training and logistical roles, explicitly prohibiting them from partaking in combat. As such, the Confederacy's Executive Committee decided that the External Affairs Bureau of the Security Branch itself would employ the Blue Suns as their own subcontractors and the money would be paid from the Confederacy's budget. And that would be the end of it, but nothing can ever be that simple. In this case, one of the clerks working for the Security Branch noticed that 'the firm' as an organization does not in fact have the ability to employ private military contractors in any capacity – military or otherwise. Only field agents – like yours truly – as the men deployed in the universe could hire a PMC. It would be, generally speaking, considered as one of the means to accomplish the mission. So what in fact happened was that it was me who personally hired the Blue Suns, on behalf of the External Affairs Bureau and paid for it with the money from the Confederacy's budget. Is it funny, yet? It gets better, believe me.

Obviously, the whole issue was much more complicated than that, seeing as the Blue Suns were in fact eligible for the military draft in a situation of emergency. In this case, according to the Confederacy's Interversal law I would be in charge of them, as the Confederacy's only ranking officer in the Mass Effect galaxy. BUT, the military draft provisions would put the Blue Suns under the chain of command of the Confederate Armed Forces NOT the Security Branch. If the Confederate Armed Forces took over the Blue Suns and they were at the time taking part in combat, then that would put the whole Confederacy in a state of war (which nobody wanted), so special provisions and addenda had to be made. You could easily see how all of this was going to hell and fast. One bureaucratic headache generated another one and nobody wanted to step up and admit that we had no idea what we are doing.

The Confederacy's merry band of lawyers and bureaucrats completely ignored the small issues like the fact that no Blue Suns mercenary in their right mind would acknowledge my authority over them or that many of them enlisted with the PMC to avoid serving in the state military in the first place. The Confederacy's lawyers approach could be summed up as: 'It's on that displaced idiot's head, so screw the facts, my theory is sound!'

If it happened to anyone else, I would consider it funny. The end result was that I was stuck behind the desk in the 'Argo' shipyard on Acheron in the middle of the night. I sat there with my holo-tablet and my omni-tool activated and signed off numerous documents, invoices and slips, most of which were written in the convoluted _Legalese_ which confused the hell out of me.

I was on my tenth cigarette this evening as I tried to decipher what exactly was meant by: _'__Mult. Confederacy as a legal party in the forthwith mentioned agreement will supply a number of monetary assets for the assistance of the aforementioned party, which under the provisions of the agreement will provide the assistance which might constitute, under certain circumstances and provisions, the military aid including but not limited to conducting combat operations within approved parameters.'_

That was the moment when my brain decided that enough was enough.

"Fuck this shit!" I cursed as I stood up and kicked the wheeled armchair to the nearest wall. It bounced off with a satisfyingly loud thud, but it did nothing to my rising frustration with the paperwork. I accessed my omni-tool and called 'Coronado'.

The glowing face of Artificial Intelligence appeared on my visor.

"How can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Lox get your metal ass down here, on the double!" I barked at him. I was in no mood for pleasantries today.

"Yes, lieutenant." He responded obediently.

I tapped on my omni-tool impatiently as a small black wormhole formed in the room and Lox in his Terminator chassis stepped out of it.

"You know, it wouldn't be a problem if you took the stairs once in a while." I grumbled, mostly because I wanted to complain about something.

As usual, Lox was completely unfazed by my behaviour.

"I understood that time was of the essence, lieutenant. What do you need me for?"

I waved my hand in the general direction of my holo-tablet.

"Congratulations mate, you've just been promoted to my personal secretary. I can't deal with the backlog on the paperwork and most of the documents are written in Legal English. I have no idea what half of it means, but you're a walking and talking encyclopaedia, so guess what?"

The 'T-800' tilted his head to the side in a very human manner, which I noticed he did quite often when he was puzzled or intrigued. It looked especially funny with his skull-like face.

"I do not believe that I possess the authority to put my signature on those documents, lieutenant. I was deployed to this universe in a strictly supportive capacity."

I shrugged my shoulders in a dismissive manner, but the truth was that I was desperate for his help.

"Look, Lox – I simply can't do it. I know fuck all about the legal matters and we need this cash to keep flowing, otherwise the Blue Suns are sure to rethink their alliance with us. We can't afford such a backlog now and it will be months before I'm proficient enough to deal with the legal paperwork as it comes. You will have my written permission to sign off any documents in my name. Contact me about the ones that you think might be mission critical, okay?"

Lox gave a barely perceptible nod.

"I see your point, lieutenant. Putting you in charge of the legal matters whereas you have no preparation whatsoever in that field is indeed counterproductive. To streamline the process I will take over the accounting duties and will contact you only in the most important cases."

I sighed in relief and nodded.

"That is all I ask, Lox."

I indicated my holo-tablet and the android picked it up.

"I assume that on 'Coronado' you have a direct access to the Confederacy's military info-network?" I asked.

"Of course, lieutenant."

"Alright then, if anything of importance should happen, please get in touch with me via omni-tool. I'm going with Mr. Massani to inspect the shipyards here. We need to determine the manufacturing capabilities of the local facilities before we request any additional help from the Confederacy."

I happily left the office to which I was confined for the last couple of hours. I was never very good at delegating tasks to others, but perhaps with Lox's help I will be able to make it work.

* * *

"It's certainly impressive, but it's not enough, Zaeed. How many facilities like that do the Blue Suns have?"

The veteran mercenary consulted his omni-tool and then turned to the Lieutenant-Commander Orelan who was showing us around the shipyard. The turian officer scratched one of his mandibles in thought for a moment before answering.

"The 'Argo' is our largest establishment. Here we do conversions, repairs and maintenance of the largest units of our fleet and orders from whatever clients we had from the Terminus. Apart from that there are two smaller shipyards – the 'Taetrus Fields' and the 'Bahak', but so far they haven't done anything larger than a private sail. Also, we'd never had any need to build a ship from the ground-up so our construction crews have zero expertise in that area."

From the company's perspective it made sense. The Blue Suns purchased old or decommissioned military vessels and refurbished them for their own purpose, so they hardly needed a large construction shipyard. From a financial point of view it was only reasonable for Vido Santiago to provide funds for a couple of smaller facilities that would conduct basic maintenance rather than invest in a gargantuan shipbuilding conglomerate, which would greatly exceed the Blue Suns' needs and which may or may not pay itself off.

But Vido's frugality left me with the problem at hand. The sad fact was that I basically had three partially automated machine shops, one slightly larger than the other two, whereas I needed a full military-industrial complex. I had hoped in the past that once we gain control of the Acheron Military District I would be able to start funnelling the raw resources from the mines directly to the processing plants and from there to shipyards. It would allow us to get a head-start on the military build-up in preparation for Sovereign and his metallic creepers. The Reapers, the creepers – you get the joke? Yeah, it wasn't very funny and my current situation even less so.

Lieutenant-Commander Loray kept a very tight order in her mining operations so they were a non-issue, and besides they generated steady profit by delivering raw materials directly to Valdorf Metalworks. The situation with the shipyards was much more intricate than that, seeing as the business itself was much more complicated.

All three facilities were managed by the Blue Suns finest. And by that I mean the meanest, the most greedy and selfish individuals on this side of the multiverse. Lieutenant-Commander Orelan in the true fashion of a former naval officer didn't concern himself with the particulars of running the shipyards and delegated it to his underlings. As long as his demands were met and the proverbial trains were running on time he didn't look into the invoices too hard and he left the lower tiers of management to numerous lower-ranked mercenaries.

These men and women were from three different races and came from different corners of the galaxy, but they had one thing in common – their love for office politics. They were constantly jockeying for the positions of power within the managerial ranks going as far as sabotaging 'competing' projects and waging battles over the resources from Vido's tight budget. It was the Confederacy's IDD and the Security Branch all over again, turned up to eleven with much more malice and much fewer false smiles. These were the people who saw nothing wrong with profiteering from slave trade so it didn't surprise me in the slightest.

My issue was that I had to step into this veritable Roman palace where backstabbing was the rule of the day and turn it into a well-oiled production line. It was to be the beginning of the military-industrial complex, which in few years' time had to be supplying weaponry for the Reaper War. And that was just the production of the starships. It would have been perfect if we managed to fight the Reapers to a standstill in space, but I had no illusions about it. They would make planetfall on multiple occasions and we needed to kick-start and expand the production of armoured vehicles, personal weaponry, tube-launched and barrelled artillery. Additionally, we would need all of the boring stuff that actually keeps the army running – technical support vehicles, lorries, communication equipment as well as steady supply of spare parts and Helium-3 for fusion reactors. Acheron was the best place for the production hub that I had in mind, being out of Citadel Space and their restrictive laws, but it was a long way from being one yet.

Having said all that, I had no doubt in mind that it would fall to Zaeed Massani and most likely Commander Tarak to manage the production, whether they liked it or not. I still had to maintain the Confederacy's espionage network, which I hadn't even begun to put together. Nevertheless, it was no use crying over spilt milk. As Major Sharpe once said: If I wanted everything on a silver platter I should have joined the Army – the Security Branch make-do.

I conferred with Zaeed Massani and Lieutenant-Commander Orelan and they called up the board meeting in the small conference room where we met previously. The word spread through the Blue Suns communication network that all managers from all three conversion shipyards are to be there at once.

Even the corporate ladder climbers have to stand and jump when their boss tells them, so soon they were all seated at the tables, looking apprehensive at Zaeed's and mine presence.

Zaeed stood at the head of the table, looking quite splendid in his brand new Blue Suns armour, which contrasted rather strongly with his rough face. He addressed the gathered mercenaries in a straightforward manner.

"Some of you might know me and some of you might not. My name is Zaeed Massani and I have recently returned to the Blue Suns to take the position of the Co-Executive Officer in Vido Santiago's place. Mr. Santiago is sadly no longer in our company but his wise decisions and valuable input will be sorely missed."

I looked around the room and saw that Zaeed had their full attention now, especially since Quintus Orelan stood by his side and nodded solemnly every so often. They weren't stupid and the word travelled fast – they knew what happened to Vido and they knew that Solem Dal'Serah accepted the changeover. Office jockeys or not, these men and women were battle-hardened mercenaries at one point or another and they respected Zaeed's strength. They also respected the money that Massani brought with him.

"With new management we will have new policies in place for the whole company and we aim, among other things, to reshape the current shipbuilding capabilities of our firm. There will be more money coming in to invest in your facilities as we wish to convert them to proper dry-docks that will be able to produce warships on a mass scale. I have already spoken with Lieutenant-Commander Orelan and he will explain it to you in detail."

I admit that I was surprised. The old man was much more cunning than I originally gave him credit for. He used the carrot of the money influx to gain their attention, but he also showed them that many things would stay the same, by including their direct superior in the meeting. It gave the mercenaries the impression that if they played by the new rules they have a strong chance to retain their cushy office positions that they worked so hard to achieve. Maybe the word 'worked' was not exactly correct in this instance. 'Plotted' was much more appropriate.

Orelan nodded with appreciation at Zaeed and cleared his throat.

"As many of you know, Vido Santiago's financial plan was to keep the repairs and conversion facilities for the sole purpose of maintaining our fleet and doing odd jobs for private customers. That in itself is changing completely as we expand our operations. The funding from the budget will be used for merging all three facilities into one conglomerate. We will be cooperating in it and receive new workers and equipment to improve our construction capabilities which will allow us to not only to construct our own ships, but also maintain our much expanded fleet. In the future we might find ourselves in a situation where we will need to use any means at our disposal to fulfil our ongoing contract and that requires a large fleet of warships, including dreadnoughts and carriers."

The gathered mercenaries were mesmerized by the vision Orelan presented, but I noticed that many of them seemed rather excited at the prospect of such a huge expansion. Meanwhile, the turian looked around with a severe expression and his flanged voice carried a tone of warning.

"I know that many of you had been demoralized by Santiago's cuts, but as he left the company so did his financial strategy. From now on there will be no helping oneself to the company's money or equipment. There will be no sabotaging other projects. All invoices and paperwork will be in order and accounted for. Each and every employee will be presented with the development plan, which will also allow him to choose the desired career path. Promotions will be secured within the company by the transparent assessment system and a committee decision."

Zaeed grinned at their now dismayed expressions and added to Orelan's speech.

"Anyone who finds these new conditions unacceptable may consider his or her contract terminated and is free to join Mr. Santiago in looking for the new employment opportunities outside of the Blue Suns."

Knowing Santiago's ultimate fate ensured that all gathered mercenaries clearly understood the double meaning of Massani's words. The turian officer shared Zaeed's predator smile and added to his warning.

"Of course, you will prefer to stay since the management is planning to give a significant raise to all its old employees."

Those two crafty buggers! I was fully prepared that I would have to enter this nest of vipers and convince and bribe everyone to finally start doing their work. It seemed like Zaeed's and Orelan's heavy-handed approach provided much better results, though. With the right mix of the carrot and the stick they convinced the gathered mercs that it was in their best interest to go honest with the company immediately, lest they risk sharing unlamented Vido's fate. Yeah, it was the approach more akin to the Soviet NKVD – do as we say or else we shoot you in the head – but I couldn't argue with the merit of such method, seeing who we were dealing here with.

All in all, the side effect of my meddling in the Mass Effect galaxy's affairs was that the Blue Suns were being effectively re-purposed. What was previously a galactic semi-legal conglomerate was slowly turning to be a quasi-state. It would take years before they became self-sufficient to any significant degree, but we had already taken the first steps toward it and the late Vido Santiago provided us with a solid base to build upon. To be completely honest I had no real choice in that matter. Someone had to police the Terminus Systems in the meantime to make sure that when the Reapers come the resources of the Terminus would be fully utilized in the war effort. It might as well be the Blue Suns, knowing that they are on my payroll.

I would have to tread carefully, knowing that it was sure to upset the balance in the region, especially if (or rather – when) the other mercenary groups and the Queen of Omega herself get involved. But that was for later and I was fairly certain that we could take them on when that day came. As far as I was concerned Aria could keep Omega to herself as long as we could keep the tabs on the Collectors there. And as for the other mercenary companies, they wouldn't be able to do jack shit against the Blue Suns after they received the Confederacy's funding and know-how.

There was still the issue with the Batarian Hegemony. I now had access to numerous Batarians and many of them could be persuaded with the just right amount of money and threats to spy for me in Hegemony space. That would provide me with valuable insight into their administrative structure, which then could be used by the Security Branch to destabilize the system and replace it with something more useful to my plans and to the war effort. In the Mass Effect games the Hegemony was infiltrated by the Reaper agents early on and subsequently conquered by the Reapers. The batarians failed to contribute in any significant quantities apart from the remnants of their fleet.

Believe it or not, but it was the manner in which they contributed that gave me hope for these people. Any other race that Shepard met on his or her travels had certain conditions that had to be fulfilled before they joined the Allied Fleet. Some of them were reasonable, others not so much but the matter remained that it was a barter exchange. Ashley Williams in the first Mass Effect was right all along – when push came to shove humanity had to stand alone until certain conditions were met. The only exception to this rule were the most unlikely people, who had no love lost for humanity – the batarians. The batarian commander hated Shepard for what he (or she) did at Bahak, but he hated the Reapers even more and he grudgingly committed his meagre forces to fight, showing that they knew that some things were more important than others.

The current situation with the Hegemony was untenable and something had to be done about it fast, otherwise the story will simply repeat itself. I had to find a figure that could rally the Batarians against their own incompetent leaders and replace them with people who would put their economy on the right tracks, remove the slavery system and find some sort of rapprochement with the Citadel so they could present a united front against the Reapers when the time came.

It was a grand plan and it had a very large potential for failure, but I was rather emboldened by the Blue Suns coup d'état that Zaeed and I pulled off. I was still afraid of juggling too many responsibilities, but something had to be done. I decided that I would use the means at my disposal to strike at the Hegemony from the shadows. But I needed someone who could lead after the batarian revolution started, someone that they could follow.

I needed my own Fidel Castro to lead the revolution. I needed someone resourceful and respected, but who could also understand the big picture and what was at stake. I needed a competent military officer and there was a man like that in the Hegemony's army. The downside was that he hated humans with a singular passion, which would drive him in a few years to drop an asteroid on Terra Nova.

I needed Ka'hairal Balak. Finding him would not be a problem, but convincing him to join me of all people was a whole different matter.

Of course, if he had any living family he cared about then it would make it much easier. People become much more malleable when they know that the lives of their loved ones depend on them.

END OF CHAPTER 8

* * *

**A/N: The next stop is Citadel, where our hero will finally start working on his espionage network and he will meet a very important source of information. Stay tuned for the Chapter 9 of the Multiverse Effect!**

**If you have any questions or feedback, please do not hesitate to leave review.**

**Have a good one!**


	17. Chapter 9 - Of Cloaks and Daggers, pt 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the first part of Chapter 9 for your enjoyment. Dubois will meet his contacts and starts to sort out the espionage network. This part is about 7k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Of Cloaks And Daggers**

_Leadership is solving problems. The day soldiers stop bringing you their problems is the day you have stopped leading them. They have either lost confidence that you can help or concluded you do not care. Either case is a failure of leadership._

_Colin Powell_

* * *

Citadel

Widow System

Serpent Nebula

Earth Year: 2172

It's been two months since our takeover of the Blue Suns and I was back on the Citadel to proceed with my original, and most important objective – establishing the Confederacy's espionage network. I travelled aboard the 'Coronado' and apart from Lox I had the pleasure of receiving two new crewmembers. One of them was Corporal Tabitha Rakehal from the Blue Suns Signal Corps, her job being maintenance of the communications with the company's military network. The other one was the young batarian navigator whom I'd also met when we were boarding the 'Omega Blue'. His name was Garem Rod'barr and he held the rank of a Warrant Officer. Garem's job would be to perform the duties of a navigator and partially those of a pilot to ease the burden on Lox, so the AI could focus on analysing the paperwork that I saddled him with.

Both Blue Suns were relatively young (still years older than my current body, though), but they already had a few years of service on 'Omega Blue' under their respective belts. They were put off at first by the presence of Lox aboard the corvette, but they were willing to accept him after I vouched for the AI's safety. The people who lived in the Terminus had a rather relaxed approach to Council law in any case, so it wasn't that much of a problem. And well... neither of them was a quarian. I was also under the impression that Garem Rod'barr found my attempt to smuggle an AI onto the Citadel quite entertaining; if slightly dangerous for us all, should Lox be discovered.

The day before yesterday, Lox provided me with a list of current assets the Security Branch had in the Mass Effect galaxy. Unfortunately and to my great dismay, it was a very short list and most of the people on it were some two-bit informers and low-level Alliance clerks who didn't really know who they were selling the information to. As the Confederacy was predominantly human (and non-human citizens would have been totally useless), most of our information sources were in Alliance space, but there was one very significant exception.

That was for later though. I decided that after two long months of constant work and catching up on the paperwork backlog I deserved to take some time off to relax. I invited Corporal Rakehal and WO Rod'barr for a beer in Flux, but they both respectfully declined, citing other commitments. We agreed to meet there later though, so for the time being I was walking alone through the Upper Wards.

I approached one of the windows and the view took my breath away. The Serpent Nebula looked absolutely spectacular, its majestic bright colours making even the grand 'Destiny Ascension' pale in comparison. Honoré de Balzac once wrote that there is not a more beautiful sight than a frigate in full sail, a galloping horse or a woman dancing. I wouldn't disagree with him on that matter, but if Monsieur Balzac could see the nebula as I saw it now, I have little doubt in my mind that he would gladly add it to his list. I understood now why the Upper Wards were such a popular spot for a romantic date – you won't get any more romantic than the stars above and beyond. As I stood there taking in the view I heard someone clear his throat behind me.

"Wonderful, isn't it?"

I was loath to turn away from the mesmerizing view, but I didn't want to seem rude. I looked at the person standing next to me and I recognized an Alliance officer in dress uniform who seemed vaguely familiar.

"I first saw the Serpent Nebula on a holographic postcard that my father sent me. It made me join the Navy when I was of age. I wanted to see such things every day." He continued with a fond smile.

He shook his head and then extended his hand toward me.

"By God, where are my manners? My name is Commodore Paulo Kahoku, Systems Alliance Navy."

Finally it clicked and I recognized the man, although he looked younger than in the game. It was Rear Admiral Kahoku, the one that was later killed by Cerberus for exposing their illegal operations. If I recalled correctly, Shepard found his dead body in one of their facilities, killed by the Rachni that Cerberus had bred for whatever nefarious purposes. Kahoku was a brave man who wasn't afraid to put his life at risk for the sake of his soldiers, and I could respect that. It took me only a moment to connect all the dots as I shook his hand.

'My name is Michael Westen and I used to be a spy…' I remembered the opening line from the 'Burn Notice'. I was very tempted to use it, but it wouldn't do.

"Peter Dubois, a freelance trader. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Have we ever met before?" I asked, wondering why he had talked to me in the first place. My work-related paranoia was catching up with me again – had Alliance Naval Intelligence put me in their sights? That would have been very bad.

Kahoku just smiled as we started to walk along the large window.

"No we haven't Mr. Dubois, but I couldn't help but notice the way you looked when you stood there. I admit that you reminded me a lot of myself when I was your age. Our galaxy is large and vast – it feels a bit overwhelming at times, doesn't it?"

"Yes it is, sir, but I've already seen quite a bit of it. I was born in the Terminus Systems."

That was part of my cover story. Many humans when the galaxy at large became available emigrated from the confines of Alliance-controlled space to find their own place in the universe. Mass Effect's humanity was filled with rovers, vagabonds and adventurers who chaffed under Alliance law and preferred to carve their own future in the lawless Terminus. Such a state of affairs made it easier for me to pretend that I was born there, because many of the worlds in the Terminus did not bother with keeping records of births and deaths. Had I claimed to be from Alliance Space instead, it could have been easily checked out, and discovered to be a falsehood. With the Terminus there was literally no way to either confirm or debunk it.

"Do you have Alliance citizenship, Mr. Dubois?"

"I'm afraid not, Commodore. I never saw the need to get one. Why? Am I in some sort of trouble?"

"Oh no, not at all!" Kahoku laughed out loudly. "I was merely curious."

We walked slowly along the Upper Wards, discussing places that we had visited so far, comparing our experiences. During the course of our conversation I noticed some very interesting thing about humanity in Mass Effect in general. Their culture was slightly different than the one I remembered from my Earth. For example, Commodore Kahoku had no qualms about approaching and talking to a virtual stranger like me. In my old life people were not that bold, but here it appeared to be a rather common behaviour. It explained why nobody ever called Shepard out for his (or her) curiosity and nosiness. I guess that we could chuck it up to the culture evolving of over a period a hundred and fifty years.

I noticed that Commodore Kahoku acted very differently than his older counterpart in the first Mass Effect video game. In the game he seemed constantly on the edge – not surprising, seeing as he was then looking for his missing soldiers, who as it turned out were led into an ambush by the Cerberus and killed.

He also lacked the aura of a combat veteran that was visible in the game. I remembered reading about him and he was mentioned in connection to the Skyllian Blitz where he earned his Admiral's chevrons. In fact, the Skyllian Blitz was the second full interstellar conflict where Alliance soldiers like Kahoku and his contemporaries had their baptism of fire. The generation which fought First Contact War had already been mostly retired by then and soldiers and officers who represented the new breed, Shepard among them, bloodied their sabers for the first time against the Batarian Hegemony. Hopefully, if we did things right, and by we, I of course mean I, the Blitz would not come to pass this time around. My meddling with the timeline was a dangerous game to play, but with the Reapers just around the corner I couldn't afford to be only reactive.

I bid goodbye to Commodore Kahoku and we parted ways in front of Flux. As I entered the club I noticed that it was much larger than was shown in the game. A whole upper story was dedicated to the casino, including the quasar gaming system. The dance floor was much more spacious than it appeared in the game – it could easily accommodate most of the patrons. There weren't that many of them as it was still around 3 o'clock in the afternoon by Citadel Time, but in an hour or so that was sure to change. The one thing that was exactly the same as in the game was the rather uninspired electronic music that played in the background. I wasn't a great connoisseur of electronic beats by any stretch of the imagination and I can't really say I know the genre very well. Still, I did like some of the more ambitious DJ's, especially the ones who were really good at mixing their music. Sadly, the generic thumping sound played in Flux was on the completely opposite side of the spectrum.

After a quick search I found an unoccupied table and sat there. As it happened I could use my omni-tool to place the order and I did so. After approximately fifteen minutes of waiting and no confirmation that my order was even received I got up and went to the bar. The battery of drinks and liquors behind the bar looked very inviting. A couple of human and asari females worked behind the bar, pouring drinks and shots, which with a heavy heart I decided to pass on for this afternoon. There was also a volus gentleman standing in his pressure suit, as he checked something on the holographic display. I recognized him as the owner of the joint, but I couldn't remember his name.

"Excuse me, sir. Is your omni-tool order system working as it should? I placed my request nearly fifteen minutes ago, but I received nothing?" I asked politely.

I could have potentially played the role of an angry customer, but I'd been on the receiving and of someone's ire enough times in the past for it to be even remotely entertaining.

And yes, when the volus answered my question, he was indeed breathing heavily between every other world he spoke. For the sake of brevity I will refrain from quoting him word for word and including all his 'hshnk-s'.

"My apologies Earth-clan, it would seem that our electronic equipment had failed us once again. What would you like to have?"

I took one last look of longing at the Scotch whisky at the very end of the bottle row and replied.

"One cranberry juice, please." Not really a fan of cranberry juice, but its taste kind of reminded me of the cheap wines that we used to drink back in high school.

'Might as well try to fool my own tongue and feel young again.' I smiled at my nostalgic thoughts, disregarding the fact that I was technically still in my early twenties.

One of the smiling girls passed me the juice and I went back to my table. As I sat there, nursing my drink my omni-tool beeped, signalling an incoming call.

It was Colonel van Koolwijk.

I wondered why she was calling me at all. We briefly discussed our 'relationship' before I was deployed and we agreed that it was better to cease it before it started to be a problem. Her work was done, as she kept me reasonably happy throughout my training period and taught me to use my body as a weapon. What we had was just a simple frontline fling, nothing special to it – or so I kept telling myself. Or maybe I was reading too much into this. After all, she was one of my commanding officers. She could just be calling for administrative purposes.

I answered her call, marvelling at the sheer ingenuity and usefulness of wormhole technology. She was probably broadcasting the signal through the 'Coronado's' wormhole generator. Time-space continuum, eat your heart out.

"Hello, Dubois speaking?"

"What is your status, lieutenant?"

Ah, so we were on the clock, once again. I should have figured.

"I'm in the Flux right now, about to meet my team, colonel."

"Good. We have received your report on the Blue Suns takeover, lieutenant. General Anjou thinks you've done an outstanding job in minimizing the casualties on both sides. We can hardly afford to lose experienced soldiers with the Reapers still at large."

That was true. Apart from Vido Santiago and his two security guards we only had to take two other loyalist compounds by force. There were casualties, but they paled into insignificance when compared with the number of lives that we'd saved.

Patricia was still talking, though.

"The General Staff of the Brigade is uncertain whether letting the Blue Suns management know about the Confederacy was the wisest course of action. Many here believe that the same result could be accomplished without disclosing your true identity. What was your reasoning behind this decision, lieutenant?"

'Well, fuck you too!' I thought angrily. Everyone and their mother can be a bloody expert when it's not their skin that is on the line. I had to make some rather quick decisions concerning the Blue Suns and I took the best option I thought possible. After all, the easiest explanation to accept was the one closest to the truth. And if they hadn't accepted it, I would have been lucky to keep all my bones intact. Despite my internal aggravation I responded courteously.

"I believe that with the information that I possessed at the time it was the most reasonable course of action, colonel. Moreover, it will give us benefits in the long run. At the moment the Blue Suns are more interested in the money we pay, but once we start recovering Reaper artefacts that are certain to still be around they will understand the full gravity of the situation, which will secure us their loyalty to our cause."

Throughout our conversation Patricia's voice was deceptively steady and polite. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that I was talking to some human-like android. I'd never admit it to anyone, but that woman with her smiles and deadly demeanour scared the living daylights out of me, even more at times than Galtieri and Sharpe combined. I could only be glad that she was on our side.

"Thank you very much for your feedback, lieutenant. We will keep in touch with you."

"Patricia, could we..." I tried to say.

Colonel van Koolwijk interrupted me with the air of finality, but I could detect a hint of emotion in her tone of voice.

"I'm afraid we haven't got time for any further discussion. Have a good day, lieutenant."

And she disconnected just like that. I felt a slight pang of regret in my heart, but steeled myself against it. Getting all emotional now would do me no good. Patricia honoured her side of our small agreement and there was nothing more to be said or done. As the Security Branch trainers drummed into my head, the mission always came first.

I leaned back in the comfortable chair nursing my cranberry juice and waited for my crew to arrive.

* * *

"Afternoon, boss!"

Rod'barr's cheerful voice made me look up from my holo-tablet and from another invoice forwarded by Lox, for which I was immensely grateful. My batarian navigator stood by my table with a cheeky smile.

"Have a sit, Garem. Where is Tabitha?" I asked him noticing the distinct lack of our redheaded comms specialist.

WO Rod'barr sat on the indicated seat and without any shame put his boots on the table. If it was anyone else I would have scolded him for breaking from the protocols of behaviour. I didn't because firstly, I got used to Garem's quirks over the two weeks we'd spent travelling together and secondly we had to maintain the cover of an unprofessional merchant crew and saluting and clicking heels were a sure way to blow it.

WO Garem Rod'barr was in general a quite unorthodox batarian, much like Garrus was a bad turian. He had nothing but contempt for their sacred hierarchical system and was a rather vocal opponent of the slavery (it's just so crass, el-tee!). It didn't stop him from working for the Blue Suns of course, but as they say, the money didn't stink. Don't get me wrong – he was an exceptional navigator, with much more raw talent than probably many others, but he also had a certain disdain for authority. Perhaps disdain was too strong of a word, but for people like Rod'barr who just didn't take life too seriously the strict military drill was annoying. It was no wonder that he immediately befriended my automatic rifleman PFC Espera. They went together like salt and pepper, both sharing a similar dismissive attitude toward commissioned officers and coining a derogatory term for them – 'Idiot Corps'. I was lucky (unlucky?) enough to avoid that label, since in Espera's words 'I wasn't a proper officer anyway and I don't even look that good in the dress blacks.' I wasn't even sure what to think about that, but I begged to disagree on the dress blacks. I looked bloody stylish in them, if I do say so myself.

Having said all that, you could see that batarian's relaxed pose and his devil-may-care attitude did not bother me even though it probably should have. I asked him once again instead, "Where is Tabitha, Garem? Don't tell me you lost her on the Citadel."

The young batarian scanned the Flux searching for our wayward communications specialist.

"She went to get the beers for both of us and for yourself, el-tee, while I was looking for you. Oh! There she is!"

He waved in her general direction like a mad man. Tabitha joined us with the beer glasses, which I accepted with a quick thank you and a smile. When we were all sitting, Garem started the real conversation.

"What's the plan now, el-tee? Do you want to stay on Citadel any longer? 'Cause you know that they don't really like the Blue Suns around here, especially in the Upper Wards and the Presidium."

"That's why I told you to wear your civvies and leave the uniforms aboard. We don't want any of the local law enforcers to get too curious about our activities, Garem."

Corporal Rakehal didn't look too convinced.

"I don't know el-tee. I would feel much more at ease in the Blue Suns warehouse in the Zakeera Ward. We are just too close to the C-Sec Academy for my comfort. I feel exposed here." She admitted as she looked around suspiciously.

"The darkest place is under the lamp, Tabitha. The Zakeera Ward has regular shakedowns conducted by C-Sec in search for illegal substances. Who's going to look for us in the Presidium?"

I patted her on the shoulder with a smile.

"Relax, corporal. We are just a jolly crew of misfits who happened to make it really big in the Terminus. Now we are back in civilized space to blow through our hard-earned money."

Our token batarian barked with laughter.

"You've got our story all figured out for the C-Sec's benefit, haven't you el-tee?"

"Of course Garem – I am the incredibly handsome captain of the ship and the main character of the story. You are my lovable, alien sidekick, slash comic relief with a great sense of humour and penchant for getting into trouble."

WO Rod'barr laughed so hard that he almost spit his beer at us. Corporal Rakehal also giggled as she asked, "And who am I going to be, el-tee?"

I responded with a completely straight face.

"Obviously, you are my main love interest. It creates a sense of sexually-fuelled dynamics between the three of us and is the basis for more drama later on. In the meantime Lox is the scientist who has no sense of humour, but thanks to his knowledge we manage to avoid the really dangerous situations."

Tabitha shook her head in amusement.

"I am sure that my husband will love this idea, el-tee." She said sarcastically. "Batarians are too possessive for their own good."

"He'll get over it. Besides, I'm your commanding officer now. You have to follow my orders. If I decide that we will to role-play space rogues, then we're going to do it," I said playfully.

Garem had a million-dollar smile and did a typical batarian tilt of the head that signalled his amusement.

"All we need is a couple of brown trench coats to wear outside. We'd look so badass, like in 'Firefly'."

He really caught me by surprise with that statement. Even in my times 'Firefly' was a rather obscure television series, before it was cancelled. It had some cult following back in the day, but it was never very big, apart from the feature film.

"How do you know about 'Firefly', Garem? That television show must be more than a hundred years old by now?" It was more than a hundred years old, actually. Jesus, I remember watching it in high-school. Was I really that old?

"Found it on the extranet by accident and I fell in love with it immediately, el-tee. It's a shame it was so short. As a matter of fact, I really liked the way you portrayed the Galaxy before humanity as a species reached the stars. So many cool ideas about what awaited you here. Reality seems rather bland in comparison, no?"

'He's right, it's always the same shit all over again, only now it's happening on a cosmic scale. We've learnt absolutely nothing from our history, have we? Still, I'd rather say that it's just one of the many realities.' I thought wryly. The multiverse could get tricky like that when you thought about it. I also noticed that the batarian was actually expecting an answer.

"Well, you could call it bland I guess. But then again, there are the asari," I responded with a lecherous grin.

Young batarian guffawed loudly at that, while Tabitha merely rolled her eyes.

"Idiots," She said with a fond smile.

"Now you sound like my girlfriend," I pointed out, still grinning.

"I didn't know you that had one, el-tee?" She asked with a grin of her own. "You just don't seem like the type to settle down."

This time the trip down memory lane didn't produce the same pain of loss as it did before. I was really getting better in dealing with my feelings.

'Just take all the pain and sorrow that you feel inside and put it in a box. Place this box deep inside your mind and deal with it when you have the time to do so. Avoid connecting your thoughts with the emotions.' I remembered Dr. Koeckritz's advice on compartmentalizing.

"You would be surprised, corporal," I responded with a slight smile. "But in a fashion you're right – we are no longer together."

'Yes we are. At least the real me is with her. I am just a clone, not even worthy of a real relationship. Prostitutes and booze, that's all I'm going to get,' I thought, somewhat morbidly.

There was no real feeling of anger or resentment in me this time around. I was becoming more and more apathetic toward my old life. Besides, would a person like me even have a place in a civilized society like the one we'd had on my old Earth? I've already done some bad things and the list was bound to get longer and longer. If I was given a chance to return home, would I take it? I had become a trained killer, a spy if not quite an overall ruthless bastard – definitely a different man than I was before. Still, it was better not the dwell on it now. The mission comes first.

I stood up and fixed a 'professional' smile to my face.

"Alright, Tabitha – you will go back to the 'Coronado' and wait for us there. In the mean time you will contact the Blue Suns and ask Executive Massani or Commander Tarak to forward me the report on the current combat readiness of all our units."

"Aye aye, el-tee. Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all. You can go now; I'm taking WO Rod'barr with me."

Corporal Rakehal stood up swiftly and left the club without further questions.

I looked at Garem, who also stood up and he was in the process of chugging down the rest of the beer from his glass.

"Are you up for a little trip to the Presidium, warrant officer?"

Batarian burped, apologized and patted his stomach. He said with an unrepentant smile and a tilt of his head.

"You call we haul, el-tee."

I noticed that the navigator automatically checked for his sidearm. I was well aware by now that his laid-back behaviour was mostly for show and I approved of his prudence.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

I used my omni-tool to pay the bill for our drinks and with a slight wave to the bouncer at the door we left the Flux.

We walked swiftly through the Upper Wards back the way I came from, this time not paying any attention to the view outside of the windows. Finally, we have reached the Citadel Rapid Transport station and hailed one of the air-cars. With a quiet buzz it stopped and hovered by the station opening its doors. We boarded the air-car without further delay.

"To the Citadel Presidium, please" I spoke to the microphone located inside the passenger compartment and we took off, the automatic air-car immediately joining the traffic overhead.

* * *

The air-car left us in the Citadel's Financial District, which suited me just fine. We disembarked our transport and the flying taxi took off immediately. I looked around the Presidium, still somewhat in awe of its grand and modern design. The green plants and trees cultivated near the lake added a touch of natural beauty into the area. It surprised me, but they fit perfectly and brought a calming presence to the busy streets of the Financial District. I signalled the batarian navigator to follow me, as I led us swiftly toward one of the smaller shops.

The office in question belonged to the volus financial trader, who was also the Shadow Broker agent – Barla Von. The fact that our volus traded information for the Shadow Broker was an open secret among the people in the intelligence community and the Council militaries. It created a perfect smokescreen for us, because since he was widely pegged as one of the Broker's people nobody thought to question his loyalties. As such no one, not yet even the Shadow Broker himself, had any idea that Barla Von had also been an agent for the Multiverse Confederacy for the last two years. He was the sole non-human source of information that the Security Branch had in the Mass Effect universe. As I said to Corporal Rakehal before – the darkest place is indeed under the lamp.

I entered Barla Von's bureau with a confident stride. The financier seemed rather apprehensive at seeing two unknown men, one of them a batarian, entering his office as if they knew him. As the volus eyed me I said congenially.

"Good afternoon, Brother Von. I believe we have mutual acquaintances."

"Have we, Earth-clan?" Despite his small stature, the volus knew his value and was not easily cowed. I also knew that he kept a heavy Carnifex pistol under his counter should things go south. Word of advice: never underestimate the rotund, asthmatic money traders – they could put a hole in you without any hesitation if they feel threatened. Somewhat like a hedgehog really.

"That's right. May the light of the Enkindlers shine on you, brother. I send you greetings from the Father of Light himself. I am Brother Dubois from the Terminus Chapter of our church and this is Brother Rod'barr."

Forcing the smile onto my face I quoted the parts of the hanar religious text. I felt like a Jehovah's Witness now. As stupid and random as it sounded in this situation, the traditional hanar greeting was actually our password. We agreed upon it a week ago when I left a message on one of the anonymous and encrypted voicemails, which I knew Barla Von checked on a regular basis.

The hanar religion seemed completely fake to my rational mind since it was essentially invented for the jellyfish people in a video-game. Despite that and my own training it still felt sacrilegious to use it for our own purposes so casually. Even if I didn't believe in it myself, there were people out there who did.

'Oh well... hopefully the omniscient Father of Light will surely forgive us this transgression, knowing what is really at stake,' I thought sardonically.

Due to his heavy pressure suit it was impossible to see Barla Von's face, but his posture relaxed ever so slightly. The volus trader raised his right hand in a polite greeting and answered.

"Welcome to my abode, brothers and may the light of the Enkindlers be with you. I am humbled that the Father of Light himself had time to reach out to me."

Despite the suit distorting Barla Von's voice and his constant heavy breathing I could hear genuine excitement in the merchant's tone. He really was a good actor. I responded as was customary.

"My brother, it brings me great joy to pass the words of the Enkindlers that speak through the Father of Light's mind. Is there a place where we could all sit down, for we are weary from our journey?"

"Please, follow me, brothers, so that we could speak in peace," said the volus. (1)

To make the cover story more believable Barla Von had made quite a few very generous donations to the church run by the Father of Light over the last six months. I have no idea how the volus managed to explain his sudden devotion to the Hanar religion to his business partners or to the Shadow Broker. You should have seen Zaeed's face when I told him that I'd created a gold account on the Father of Light's website.

We followed him to the back of the building as he used his omni-tool to close the office in the meantime. He let us into a small office room that looked rather quaint, with an elegant wooden floor. There were a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and a large digital storage cabinet that contained memory cards of some sort. The conversation began as we sat down.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant Dubois?" His voice was suddenly serious and business-like.

"Can we speak freely here, Mr. Von?"

"Yes. This room is scanned for any listening devices every other day and I'm the only person who has full access to it."

I nodded my head.

"That should do for now, so let's get to business. As you undoubtedly know, I have been dealing with Zaeed Massani who himself was a freelancer agent for the Shadow Broker for a time. I need to know how much the Shadow Broker knows about the recent change of guard in the Blue Suns' management."

Volus answered without any hesitation.

"The Shadow Broker is concerned about the consolidation of power by Zaeed Massani. He is even more concerned that Mr. Massani was virtually unopposed by Solem Dal'Serah who still remains the visible face of the Blue Suns in the Terminus. The Broker suspects that an external force is supplying the Suns with money and materials, which could in perspective impair the balance of power in the Terminus Systems. I must say that he is not far from the truth."

I had hoped that we could keep the Shadow Broker ignorant of the happenings in the Terminus, but in retrospect it seemed like wishful thinking. The Shadow Broker had fingers, or paws rather, in many pies and the lawless Terminus was one of great importance.

"What does the Broker know about me?" I asked the volus. Outwardly, I maintained my calm presence, but on the inside I was anxious to find out.

"As far as the Shadow Broker is aware, Mr. Zaeed Massani was aided in his coup d'état by a squad of freelancers. A daring action and some might say – impossible, but in essence nothing that would surprise anyone who is aware of Mr. Massani's accomplishments to date."

Well, at least on this front we were safe for the time being. It seemed like the old mercenary's legendary operations in the Terminus actually helped to mask our involvement. To be frank, another maverick action by Zaeed sounded much more plausible than some shady government black operations squad.

So for the moment, instead of searching for his anonymous helpers, Shadow Broker's focus was fully on Zaeed Massani and possibly Das'Maral Tarak, who were busy consolidating and reshaping the company. Not a perfect situation, but still it was something that I found acceptable for the time being. The Shadow Broker was a powerful adversary, but he wasn't stupid and he wouldn't take on the Blue Suns by himself for little to no gain. If I were in his shoes I'd rather try and seek some sort of accommodation with the new management. I could at least hope that the Broker was going to be rational about it.

"Mr. Von, I need to you to keep me updated on any of the Shadow Broker's movements or decisions that concern the Terminus or the Blue Suns. If you receive any news suggesting that he has deployed his hit-men or any other assets in that area it is imperative that you let me know. Please use either the encrypted firm channels or the voicemail."

The volus nodded.

"I understand, lieutenant. Who do I report to now?"

I considered it for a moment. Barla Von was an able information broker and I could really use his help, but I was still not sure whether he could be trusted. My mission parameters stated that I was now his handler, so technically all his reports should go through me. I didn't like putting all my eggs in one basket, especially when it came to espionage, but I didn't have much choice.

"Please send every report to me directly and a second copy to your old contact. That way we can ensure that information reaches my superiors either way."

I was going back to Terminus soon. It meant that I wouldn't be on the Citadel to monitor the situation with the Council and I had to keep all my bases covered. Barla Von will oversee the happenings here and keep me informed about the situation with the Shadow Broker. Should Barla Von prove to be a liability rather than an asset then the Security Branch would have no trouble removing him from the equation. I would really prefer to avoid that, but we couldn't risk it – he knew too much.

I smiled, "That will be all for now, Mr. Von so we won't trouble you any further. Have a good day."

I stood up and motioned for the Garem to follow. Barla Von let us out of the back-door and we found ourselves in one of the back alleys of the Presidium. I took note that these parts of the Citadel were not actually shown in the game itself.

"Where to now, el-tee?" Asked the batarian navigator.

"Let's go back to the 'Coronado', warrant officer. Massani, Dal'Serah and Tarak need to know that Shadow Broker is interested in them."

Obviously, neither Garem nor Tabitha were fully aware of who I really was. As far as they were concerned I was merely a part of a human black operations agency that went rogue and was now playing the Great Game in the Terminus Systems for their own purposes. The presence of the illegal, fully-functioning AI seemed to confirm that.

We left the back alleys and found ourselves back in the main Presidium plaza just by the lake. We moved between the commuters, but they paid us no attention. As we walked along the lakeside Garem looked at me with a smile and said.

"This stuff with the Father of Light was pretty interesting, el-tee. Now I have an image in my head of you preaching to some gathered hanar on Kahje. You'd make a fun priest and I hear it's a pretty good business money-wise."

I sighed with exasperation.

"Don't remind me. This whole sham was Barla Von's idea. Apparently followers of the hanar religion are common enough not to raise suspicion. And they have plenty of converts including us now, Brother Rod'barr."

"I am grateful for your words of wisdom, Brother Dubois. You are the mouth of the Father of Light himself who is truly the mind of the Enkindlers in this life of ours."

It sounded wrong on many levels, but Garem said it all with a completely serious voice. The small tilt of his head betrayed his amusement at the situation, though.

"If you keep that up, I'd say you wouldn't be too shabby as a priest either, Garem. You should consider that as your next career choice," I retorted snidely, but the batarian only snickered.

I looked around the plaza, but I haven't seen any signs or holograms that would forbid me from smoking. Perhaps people did not indulge in that vice in the 22nd century anymore? Well, if the C-Sec has a problem with that I'd just tell them that I didn't know. Shrugging, I stood for a moment to light up a cigarette that I fished out of the inner pocket of my jacket. I took a drag of the cancer stick and as I inhaled the smoke I felt that my mind was working on overdrive. I freely admit that picking up smoking again was an awful habit. Still, it gave me the much needed kick and I just couldn't say no to it.

Garem eyed me, sanctimonious disdain quite evident in his pose. Nonetheless, all four of his eyes followed my cigarette greedily.

"These things are bad for your health, you know el-tee?"

I snickered at his half-hearted chastisement and rummaged through my pocket with my free hand. Finally finding the cigarettes, I extended my crumpled package of 'Morley's' toward Garem.

"Would you like one, warrant officer?"

The young batarian navigator pretended to ponder my question for a second.

"Well, if you're giving them away for free..."

I shrugged with an uninterested expression and made a motion of putting them back in the pocket. WO Rod'barr stopped me and quickly grabbed one of the cancer sticks, lighting it up with his omni-tool.

"I don't know this brand, el-tee? Are they from Alliance Space?"

"You must be joking. Cigarettes in the Alliance are more tightly controlled than Consort Shaira's shapely behind. My organization has their own brand distributed among their employees."

It wasn't exactly a lie either. 'Morley's' were a brand that was almost exclusively available in the Confederacy's Base Exchange stores. But the Batarian evidently didn't give a damn about my explanations. He waved in the general direction of the Citadel docks.

"Off we go to see the wizard, Brother Dubois!" Garem commented obscurely with a cheeky tilt of his head.

The Citadel had a tightly controlled ecosystem, maintained by the Keepers so it was always warm here like the summer months on Earth. Because of that, Garem and I decided to forego the Citadel Rapid Transit trip and we walked toward the nearby C-Sec Academy and our docking station. Two _amigos_: an abolitionist batarian and the human out of this 'verse. We strolled back to the ship in the swaggering manner of the Terminus Systems' spacers, happily ignoring the scandalized looks from the passers-by and the suspicious, icy stares of the patrolling C-Sec officers.

We talked about music, coffee, cigarettes and women. Just for a short moment I allowed myself to forget about the Reapers and the incoming war. It was a good day.

* * *

(1) The whole Father of Light discussion with Barla Von is my shout-out and a tribute to a wonderful fanfic by MizDirected called 'Mass Effect - Future Imperfect'. If you haven't read it yet, please consider doing so.

**A/N: That's it for the first part of the Chapter 9. The next one will be dealing with the Batarian Hegemony and the situation there. Stay tuned for more of Multiverse Effect!**


	18. Chapter 9 - Of Cloaks and Daggers, pt 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 9 for your enjoyment. Dubois is in the Batarian Hegemony space now and up to no good. This part is about 6,2k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

Orbit above the planet Aratoht

Bahak System

Viper Nebula

Earth Year: 2172

The planet Aratoht was not a looker by any standards or stretch of the imagination, and from orbit it looked brown and ugly. Still, one could easily see that the Batarian Hegemony put a lot of time and money into terraforming the planet up to some level of habitability, especially if the constant cargo traffic to the spaceport was any indication. The population of the planet was about three hundred thousand, but only eighty thousands of them were free citizens. Curiously enough, only the regular contractors worked in the effort to increase the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere, while the whole slave population was used in the extensive mining operations. It seemed like the ever paranoid Hegemony didn't want to risk involving slaves in the terraforming for fear of them sabotaging the whole undertaking.

Contrary to how many people imagine living in a totalitarian society, the fact is that it's very difficult (if not impossible) to achieve a level of total control over a population – especially its lower tiers. The common people are not as stupid and gullible as the ruling establishment would like to think and the batarians were no exception. With the help of Lox I did an infiltration of the batarian extranet, which was firewalled and controlled much like the internet in some of the authoritarian countries in the 21st century. Despite that, a quick search revealed a thriving community of anonymous users who used blogs and communication boards to debunk each and every statement provided by the official media. To my amusement I even discovered a website which contained nothing but the political and anti-establishment jokes. Here is one:

_Question: "Is it true that the Batarian Hegemony is the most progressive power in the galaxy?"_

_Answer: "In principle, yes. Life was already better yesterday than it's going to be tomorrow."_

This sad little jibe summed up the batarian approach to their standards of living and to their current political situation. They basically had no hope for any improvement whatsoever and all that was left for them was poking fun at official propaganda. Still, the simple fact that there were voices of dissent in a significant number gave me hope for their species and for my future guerrilla campaign against the Hegemony's ruling establishment. It would be a long, hard and dangerous road, but I saw no other option – batarians were too apathetic and too used to the _status quo_ to bring about the change in a peaceful fashion.

As I observed the colony I reached the conclusion that Aratoht was treated like the crown jewel by the Batarian Hegemony. It clearly showed even if someone chose to follow only the official announcements by the Hegemony's Department of Information Control. The amount of resources that the Hegemony was willing to throw at Aratoht was staggering. Unfortunately for the colonists, the inefficiency, the corruption and the general incompetence of the batarian administration caused most of those resources to go to waste. Obviously, you wouldn't know that from the official statements, but I learned to read between the lines:

The today's 'Aratoht State News' told us: _'The daily water rations were increased by 5 percent this week'_. That was true – if you chose to ignore the fact that it was decreased by 20 percent the week before.

Another was: _'Three tons of terraforming cyanobacteria were contaminated by human saboteurs and had to be disposed of.'_ It was a truckload of bullshit – the overseer responsible for the shipment sold it for nearly a hundred kilograms of Red Sand. The batarian in question had been running the biggest drug dealing cartel in his part of the city for the last year.

Each accident was blamed on Alliance spies or the batarian fifth column. Each shortage of essentials was caused by 'saboteurs' or 'abolitionists'. The reason for any shipment delays were the bloodthirsty Alliance raiders attacking innocent civilian transports. The poor quality of the Batarian State Arms pistols were obviously the fault of the 'defeatists', 'cowards' and 'enemies of the Hegemony'. The people who worked for the Hegemony's Department of Information Control were my enemies, but I was truly astonished by their capability to produce such incredible amounts of propaganda every day. They must have had literally thousands of people, and possibly Vis, committed to this endeavour alone.

The Batarian Hegemony wasn't anywhere near the totalitarian Oceania from Orwell's 'Nineteen-Eighty-Four' in terms of the information control and the micromanagement of the population, but they had nothing to be ashamed of either.

As I was standing on the bridge of the 'Coronado' and contemplating the planet below, my artificial second in command was searching for any signs of our target – Commander Ka'hairal Balak of the Batarian External Forces. Not much was known about this part of the batarian military, but we suspected it to be the equivalent of a black operations wetwork team of some sort, or even the Confederacy's Security Branch. We hoped to learn much more about the inner workings of the Hegemony by probing Balak for information and hopefully subvert him to our cause.

Finally done with reading various batarian websites I turned off my omni-tool and turned to the glowing apparition of Lox.

"Have you found anything about Balak?"

The apparition looked at me and shrugged in a very human-like manner.

"I'm afraid not, lieutenant. Are you certain that he can be found somewhere on this planet?"

"This is the information that we received from Barla Von and it came straight from the Shadow Broker's network. If anyone had a valid Intel on our target it's the Broker."

I took another look at Aratoht. Thankfully, our corvette was cloaked using the Confederacy's superior technology and we didn't have to worry about being discovered by their LADAR.

"Besides, this planet is a strategic staging point for any operation in Alliance territory and it's more militarized than a Confederacy's base-world. There is no better place for a Batarian External Forces officer. So unless Balak went on holiday and forgot to let anyone know about it we'll find him here."

"You are awfully certain of the accuracy of the Shadow Broker's intelligence, lieutenant."

"I'm not certain of anything, apart from the fact that we paid a lot of credits for this piece of information. Had the Shadow Broker been providing bogus data on a whim, he would have been out of the business a long time ago."

The AI's glowing hologram tilted his head at me with a curious expression.

"I do not understand why you didn't want me to use our own resources, lieutenant? Security Branch Intelligence community is much more adept at gathering Intel than even the best of the Shadow Broker's agents."

"It's the absolute last resort, Lox. I'd like to keep as many resources as possible in the Terminus and not divert them unless necessary. I also want to ensure that the Blue Suns have the capacity to wage war on the Reapers even without our constant support."

"Why is that, lieutenant?"

I sighed, not sure whether I wanted to share my suspicions with my AI helper. I decided to do so, because as strange as it sounded, he was the only one that I could fully trust here. Excluding the possibility that someone shut him down and copied data directly off his memory banks.

"What I'm about to tell you now I'd like to keep confidential, Lox. And that is my direct order."

"Acknowledged, lieutenant."

"I believe that the Security Branch will pull the plug on our operation the moment the proverbial excrement hits the rotor. This whole deal seemed like a sham from the very beginning. I mean, think about it – sending a single displaced agent to maintain an espionage network? This galaxy doesn't need another Shadow Broker. What it needs are weapons, spaceships and the resources to maintain them. All of those in numbers that would make a difference in the fight against the Reapers."

I stretched my arms, feeling the crack in my neck.

"And that's what I'm trying to do now, Lox. The more resources we supply to Zaeed, Solem and Das'Maral now, the bigger the chances of survival they have when the Bureau decides to whisk us out of here."

"Permission to speak freely, lieutenant?" asked Lox his voice carefully neutral.

"Go ahead." I responded.

The glowing AI stood with his arms folded and looked at me with concern.

"I believe you are stressing yourself for no reason, Lieutenant Dubois. The Parliament made a nearly unanimous decision to do a limited insertion to the Mass Effect galaxy. Security Branch is duty-bound to follow that decision, because just like any other agency we fall under the control of a civilian administration. Rest assured that the revocation of the Parliament's decision is an administrative process that takes a long time to unfold. Should it happen, the procedure will remain clear and transparent and you would be the first to know, lieutenant."

Well, that made sense actually. Sometimes I kept forgetting that the Confederacy was just as much of a victim of the institutional inertia suffered by any other modern country. Lox was right; after the decision was made by the administration it couldn't be undone just like that, no matter what the people back home thought about it.

I furrowed my eyebrows in thought. Perhaps my work-related paranoia, so finely honed by the Security Branch training regime had more drawbacks than I initially thought. Sure, it had kept me alive so far and probably would in the future, that was a given. But if I kept second-guessing even my closest associates then it won't end well. On the other hand – nothing could be done about it now. It was a dangerous game that I played and I couldn't afford to get complacent.

My musings were interrupted by Lox who was observing one of the holographic displays.

"Lieutenant Dubois, I have managed to locate Commander Ka'hairal Balak."

I raised my eyebrow, rather impressed seeing as Lox was sceptical about our chances before.

"How did you do that?"

The glowing apparition didn't move, but it didn't have to. I knew that the AI was now deeply in batarian cyberspace, but unlike organics he could easily multitask and talk to me at the same time.

"I have hacked the Batarian Navy code and I've managed to access their network to see what military assets they have available in the Bahak System. The Batarian External Forces have their own separate network, but if you try to access it as a naval operator you can use some back doors – if you know the system of course. I have been observing one of the military bases that doesn't exist in the official manifests, but which received multiple cargo shipments in the last couple of weeks. I accessed its monitoring system and managed to identify Commander Balak of the External Forces. From the conversations I'd managed to intercept it seems like our target won't be leaving the base for some time."

"How much is some time, Lox? I need to get my team here and prep them for the acquisition of the target." I said crisply.

All my previous doubts were quickly forgotten. After hours of waiting I had been presented with a clear target and nothing else mattered now.

"It seems like Commander Balak arrived in the facility two days ago and he has not received his marching orders yet."

I grinned savagely. It gave us at least a week or so to prepare. The Batarian Hegemony's military was notorious for their administrative backlog, lack of organization and poor staff work. They basically were an army of lions led by the donkeys. It happened in the past that units had remained stranded on one planet for weeks, because they were 'forgotten' in the chaos. In addition, the Hegemony's traditional caste system more often than not promoted into positions of power the people who were wholly unsuitable for their tasks. Even their legendary, gruelling training was not enough to weed out the undesirables, because batarians from high castes received special dispensation from it. The final result was that for each talented officer like Solem Dal'Serah the Hegemony received three bumbling idiots, who shouldn't be allowed to manage a grocery store, let alone a military unit.

Commander Ka'hairal Balak was definitely in the first category though and for that reason it was imperative that we captured him alive. For all his personality faults Balak was an able and driven commander who would be a great boon if co-opted to our cause. It was the man whose mission to crash an asteroid into Terra Nova would have been successful if it weren't for Commander Shepard's timely intervention. The questionable morality of such an operation aside, it took courage and organizational skills in large proportions to plan and execute such a task, especially since his subordinates were nothing more than thugs and slavers.

I had a plan on how to take him in already. It was elegantly simple and audacious, but I was sure that it would work. After all, we were in Batarian territory and they hardly expected anyone to infiltrate their security network as deeply as we did. I looked at the patiently waiting AI.

"Keep an eye on Commander Balak, Lox. I think that he shall be receiving his new marching orders sooner rather than later, wouldn't you say?"

Lox could read between the lines, and he caught on quickly to what was left unsaid.

"I will prepare them right away, lieutenant."

* * *

Batarian External Forces facility 'Aratoht Gamma'

Planet Aratoht; Bahak System;

Viper Nebula

Earth Year: 2172

For some time now I considered myself a paranoid person. My original self would be rather put off by that statement, since he was nowhere near as distrustful as I was now. Still, the facts were difficult to dispute and besides – it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. On the other hand, my newly developed cautious nature made me put a lot of thought into each and every plan that I executed.

It took us two days of careful planning before I gave my team the go ahead. Only WO Rod'barr and I would be deployed to the planet surface – I wanted to minimize our presence down to the most essential personnel. Garem had to go because he was the only batarian that we've had at hand. As for me – let's just say that I didn't feel comfortable sending someone else to the hornet's nest that was Aratoht. The mission plan was daring and rather straightforward, but it didn't make it any less dangerous. There was no doubt that there were lives on the line and I couldn't ask anyone else to shoulder the responsibility if I wasn't willing to put myself in harm's way.

For that reason Garem and I found ourselves sitting in a stolen Batarian State Automotive transporter. It was a rugged, wheeled design, suitable for military use. It lacked the sleek elegance of the asari vehicles or the all-terrain performance of the turian transport vans, but its raw interior and rough controls had a certain charm of their own. With its bulky bubble-tyres and narrow chassis it was oddly similar to the Alliance's 'Grizzly' IFV – the 'battle taxi' of the Alliance Marine Corps. Ours had its weapons removed obviously, but thanks to the Confederacy's technology we were far from helpless.

Garem was driving the vehicle and I was sitting in the crew compartment hidden under the cloaking device. I used a similarly cloaked drone patrolling above us to observe the perimeter around the vehicle and to provide us with fire support should things go south. My batarian navigator drove up to the entrance of 'Aratoht Gamma' and parked in front of the gate near the scanner. I noticed that a single visor opened on the driver side and a laser beam scanned Garem, who shifted uncomfortably. When the scan was done a disembodied voice said, "State your purpose here."

Despite the voice distortion I could clearly hear that the man who spoke held his finger on the proverbial trigger. The quality of the batarian troops varied from unit to unit, but the Batarian External Forces were true professionals that recruited only the best. The guards at the 'Aratoht Gamma' facility were no exception.

But Garem despite his relative youth had been in a private army for a couple of years now. He responded without any hesitation.

"I am here to provide transportation for Commander Ka'hairal Balak of the External Forces."

"Your orders, sir?" asked the sentry.

Rod'barr responded shortly, his tone of voice sounding bored.

"Here they are. And I'm not a sir, soldier."

He extended his left hand through the side window and activated his omni-tool, allowing the laser scanner to connect to it. The Warrant Officer maintained an aura of nonchalance, his fingers tapping impatiently. He played the role of an irritated professional non-com rather well. Meanwhile I kept my eye on the perimeter through the cloaked drone, identifying automatic weapon placements near the entrance just in case. For a tense few moments I thought that the marching orders that Lox prepared were incorrect and our deception would be discovered, but the scanner only beeped once and we heard the sentry's voice.

"Everything is in order, sergeant. Proceed."

The heavy blast doors that had blocked the entrance opened up and Garem drove our vehicle through it. My cloaked drone trailed behind the transporter passively scanning the perimeter and mapping all possible escape routes. Hopefully we won't need them, but I knew better than to bank on everything going smoothly.

We parked on the inside of the bases perimeter in a fairly spacious courtyard. Garem Rod'barr left the driving seat and stood next to the vehicle at parade rest position. Meanwhile, I used the drone to look around the courtyard. I noticed that it was the perfect defence for dealing with a land-based attack, as it funnelled the enemy combatants into a kill zone. Before any potential attackers could move deeper into the base they had to traverse the courtyard surrounded by the elevated firing positions on all sides. I wasn't very happy that we'd had to park here, but I expected nothing less and we had planned accordingly. I set the cloaked drone to slowly circle around above us and check the surroundings for activity that could be perceived as hostile. Now we could only wait.

The base wasn't in any state of emergency. There was a squad of batarian troopers exercising outside doing push-ups and whatnot. They all carried their weapons with them, some of them even wore armour, but there was no sense of urgency or any alertness whatsoever. I was relieved to see that – should anything go wrong it would give us those few precious seconds when the batarians tried to get their stuff together. Even the best trained soldiers need some time to react to a dangerous situation when they are not prepared for it.

My cloaked drone marked a figure coming out of the building complex ahead. The batarian didn't wear any helmet and after zooming in with the drone's camera I recognized Commander Ka'hairal Balak of the Batarian External Forces. He wasn't wearing his characteristic red and black armour yet. He still sported the standard batarian military uniform without any additional markings as was required of the External Forces who were expected to work undercover away from the Hegemony's territory. He approached Garem who snapped a quick salute.

"Good morning, Commander."

Ka'hairal Balak responded with his own salute.

"I understand you are here to pick me up?"

"Yes, sir," said Garem with a quick nod.

"Good. I've been waiting here long enough. Have District Command approved my idea yet, sergeant?"

Garem led Balak into the entrance to the crew compartment, which was located in the rear. I made sure to double check my cloaking device and prepare my taser. The door opened and I heard Garem respond with my own ears.

"I'm sorry Commander, but my orders are to take you to the District Command Headquarters in the Aratoht City. I don't know anything else." WO Rod'barr's response was respectful, but firm.

Balak shrugged as he entered the crew compartment. I had him fully in my sights now.

"No, I didn't think you would know."

He looked around the rather cramped interior and said.

"By the ancestors, couldn't they send us a proper air-car? How old is this thing?"

Meanwhile Garem sat back at the driver's seat and spoke through the intercom.

"I'm sorry Commander, but this was the only vehicle that the motor pool could provide at such short notice. I'm sure you know how it is..." he trailed off knowingly.

The transporter's engine started and Garem slowly drove back toward the entrance.

Balak sighed and shook his head miserably.

"You don't know the half of it sergeant..."

This was the moment that I decided to silence our soon-to-be prisoner. I pressed the trigger on my taser and...Nothing happened.

The gun's click sounded like a thunderbolt in the confined space of the passenger compartment. Balak looked in my general direction, but he didn't see anything due to the still active cloaking device. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as I pressed the taser's trigger again.

This time it worked, but not the way I wanted it to. The coil fizzled to life for a moment without shooting a stunning bolt and then the battery mounted on the side of the device backfired and short-circuited my tactical cloak, revealing my armoured silhouette to the batarian officer.

I cursed the useless taser and threw it to the side, still momentarily distracted. But Ka'hairal Balak wasn't a batarian commando for nothing. Without hesitation he struck with his foot, hitting me square in the face. I wore my helmet, and it helped to dissipate the strength of the blow, but I was still stunned. Balak moved back toward the rear door with the intention of opening them and leaving the vehicle. I'd be having none of that obviously – if he raised the alarm inside the base then we would be as good as dead.

My taser lost I moved quickly toward the batarian who struggled with the manual handle. My hand to hand combat training kicking in, I tried to strike the Balak in the back of his head to knock him out. The lack of room in the vehicle compartment caused my fist to miss my target and hit him in the shoulder blade. He hissed in pain – my own considerable strength enhanced by the Interceptor armour was no joke – but he remained conscious. He half turned my way, his right hand reaching for the sidearm that I saw him carrying on his left hip. But now the drawbacks of the Mass Effect pistol drill showed themselves fully. His right hand had not enough room to comfortably grab the pistol grip and he fumbled for a second, trying to reach it. I used this moment of distraction to grab his wrist with my right hand and to hit him in the head once more with my left fist. This time I paid close attention to cushion my blow accordingly as I struck him in the temple, knocking him unconscious. Nevertheless, my fist still broke the batarian's skin in one place and some blood tricked down the side of his head. Hoping that I didn't break anything of importance I called out to Garem who undoubtedly watched us through the internal cameras.

"I've got the situation under control, Rod'barr. Are we at the gate yet?"

"Yes we are, el-tee. That was some mighty fistfight back there if I do say so myself," he added with a short laugh.

"Can it warrant officer," I snapped, not in the mood for his usual cheekiness. "Let's get out of here fast. And when we're out of this, someone better explain to me why they didn't check the operational gear before we left!"

"Aye aye, el-tee." He responded promptly, recognizing my bad disposition.

We stopped by the huge blast door once again, our unseen drone still hovering above us. We now had everything we came here for and I wanted nothing more than to leave the base intact. I whispered to Garem, my sub vocal receptors augmenting my voice in his earpiece.

"Just be cool, Garem. You came here to pick up the high-ranking External Forces officer and that's exactly what you did."

But luck wasn't on our side and the blast door remained closed. This time instead of the laser scanner we saw four fully kitted batarian soldiers leaving their guard house. Each of them carried the Batarian State Arms Terminator assault rifle and they looked as they were ready to use it. I cursed silently to myself as I watched them approach us. One of the guards, clearly a non-com, walked up to Garem's driver seat and said.

"Please open the rear door, sergeant."

That's not what I wanted to hear at all. We had an unconscious Balak in the back, who was still bleeding from the cut on his temple. What's worse, my cloaking device had stopped working altogether so I was completely visible.

Despite our dire situation Garem played his role still.

"Look guys, do we really have to do this? I've already got a bloody backlog and my CO will have my hide if I'm late again."

But the batarian's response was final.

"Open the rear door, sergeant – now!" he shouted.

"Oh alright, alright..." Garem grumbled something to himself as he turned away from the batarian non-com. He whispered to his sub vocal receptor.

"What are we going to do, el-tee?"

My voice was calm and collected as I attached a suppressor to my PDW. It seemed like we had no choice but to go out with a boom.

"Open the door, Garem and signal 'Flaming Arrow'."

The rear door hatch snapped open and I heard the footsteps of the batarian soldier approaching. His head appeared in the opening as he looked curiously inside. His eyes widened at the sight of an unconscious Balak and myself. He didn't have time to alert his comrades before I pulled the trigger, firing a short, three-round burst.

I aimed at his neck to compensate for any recoil, but the gun had remarkably little, and the plasma-coil beads were as devastatingly effective as ever. The energy of the first bead completely disabled the kinetic barriers, while the next two pierced the batarian guard's collarbone. There was no blood, as the superheated beads cauterized his wounds instantaneously, but he fell dead nonetheless. I quickly moved to the back of the vehicle and left through the opened hatch, stepping over the dead body.

The three batarian guards that were left had not expect me to peak out from the rear door, and for a second or two they just stared at me and at their dead colleague. Deciding to give them no time to collect themselves I shot at the gaping non-com, producing much the same result as with the first. Both guards raised their Terminator rifles and fired at me, but my superior shields absorbed the shaving beads easily, especially since I was half concealed behind the vehicles entrance. Pulling the trigger once more I felled another guard, while the last one raised his hand to his headset to call the alarm. He never managed to do that however, as he fell down lifelessly, the third victim of the day. Not that it made any difference – External Forces were now fully aware that we were here.

I looked at the driver's cabin where Garem stood with his pistol, which fired the killing shot and gave me a quick nod.

We've managed to dispatch the guards at the gate, but we were not out of the woods yet. I shouted at Garem.

"Pick up Balak and move him to the guard house! I'll cover you!"

I had a Plan B as usual. The Security Branch instructors had always taught me to have a backup plans for my backup plans. Lox was very helpful in working out the kinks in them by running multiple simulations to find the weak spots. Fortunately, my AI helper had also foreseen a scenario similar to ours. So while I wasn't happy about the current turn of the events it didn't mean I was completely hopeless.

I noticed that while the blast door remained closed, the guards had left their guard house side door unlocked. We could use it to leave the facility on foot. We wouldn't be able to use the controls in the house itself to open the blast doors. Security protocols dictated that they would already have been shut down from the main control hub.

Without a word Rod'barr dragged out the still unconscious officer and toward the guard house, while I turned back toward the courtyard and opened fire at the approaching soldiers. The previously drilling batarians were well-trained and even if they weren't fully aware of what was happening they fell back to their training. As I fired from behind the transporter I noticed that they all moved by teams and laid covering fire at me. Thankfully, the vehicle's armour was thick enough to cover me from the worst of their fire. I saw that Garem managed to get into the guard house with our prisoner, but I needed a distraction to get there myself.

Speaking of which, I knew for a fact that my navigator sent out the 'Flaming Arrow' signal to my squad. They should have...

I didn't finish my thought before the building across the courtyard exploded. The reinforced glass windows were blown outwards, while whatever was inside caught fire as if it was doused in a flammable liquid of some kind, most likely fuel. It was followed by four more explosions in quick succession causing the alarms not already blaring like a banshee to go off. Most of the batarians at the courtyard either took cover or dived to the ground, fully expecting to be fired upon from all directions. Without further delay I took a last quick shot at them and then I ran towards the entrance of the guard house. After I got there I locked the door behind me, using my omni-tool. I left a viral program to scramble the opening app to keep the batarians busy when they finally get here.

'Flaming Arrow' was the designation agreed upon during the planning phase, for the detonation of the previously deployed, hidden explosive devices. For the two days that I used to prepare for the mission my squad utilized the quick in-and-out wormhole insertions to place low-yield explosives in vital places on the base. We placed fusion bombs in the armouries, control rooms, generator areas and the like to create as much chaos and confusion as possible. We wanted to keep the mission as low-profile, but if the situation got out of control (as it seemed to have now) I wanted to ensure that 1) we damaged the batarian war machine as much as we could and 2) ensure that the panic raised by the exploding devices would allow us to extract our personnel more easily. I freely admit that it wasn't the most elegant exit method, but I didn't really care. We would be hitting the Batarian Hegemony hard and I decided that if our mission went south, then we can at least give them a taste of what is to come in the near future.

Meanwhile I helped Garem grab the still unconscious Balak. This time we were taking no chances, so I motioned for the navigator to tie Balak's wrists and ankles with polymer flexicuffs. While our prisoner was unconscious now it didn't make him any less dangerous should he wake up – he was an External Forces commando after all. Just to be sure, I checked his vitals – batarians didn't have the carotid artery in the same place that we do, so I had to press my fingers under his chin rather than his neck. Balak's pulse remained steady, so I motioned for Garem to pick him up again as I took point.

I had only a vague idea of the design of the guardhouse, but I knew that they had their own exit that led to the outside of the facility. Yes, the External Forces were the batarian's best, but they still traded the less essential military equipment for cigarettes, booze and other luxuries. What do you expect? They were the elite soldiers who lived in a boring, closed facility in the totalitarian state which was corrupt to the bone. Since they could hardly use the main gate for trading equipment, contraband and favours as it was screened thoroughly, they kept their own passages instead.

My gamble paid off as we went into one of the long, grey corridors. I noticed one of the doors with a sticker that said in the batarian language, 'MAINTENANCE PERSONNEL ONLY'

Disregarding the writing I opened the door with my omni-tool, quickly using one of my apps to scramble the receiver into thinking that the white noise data I sent it was the correct password. We went through it and dragged Balak with us. We found ourselves in a small guard post, with a spartan metal desk, an armchair and a computer, but the man who was supposed to be stationed here was nowhere to be found. It seemed that it was the unofficial 'trading post' of the Aratoht Gamma facility. There we saw another door with a window in it that led us to the outside of the facility's perimeter. I opened the door and summoned the cloaked drone which was still circling the facility and recording the garrison's reaction time.

Luckily, it seemed that the External Forces soldiers were too preoccupied with their base being on fire to look for the saboteurs. One of our devices had been placed in the officer's quarters – on detonation it killed couple of them and apparently cut off the rest. It would be only a temporary hindrance, but because of that there were barely any higher ranking batarians to coordinate the troops to put down the fires, let alone to search for us. As for the lower ranks, the Hegemony did not encourage initiative among the non-coms or the enlisted soldiers, lest they get any ideas above their station. This approach ensured obedience and reinforced the existing caste system, but in this case most of the soldiers were content with waiting for orders rather than doing something on their own.

I grabbed the unconscious Balak and motioned for Garem to follow me. We disappeared into the surrounding vegetation and moved on to our designated rendezvous point, which wasn't very far – we took into consideration that we would have to ditch the vehicle somewhere on the way and we planned the pick-up accordingly. Behind us we left the burning Aratoht Gamma base. I had no illusions that the attack would be blamed by the Department of Information Control on the batarian 'fifth column'. Even if someone saw me and recognized me for a human, the Hegemony would never admit that the Alliance managed to infiltrate one of its core worlds. But they'd have External Forces searching for us once they got back on their feet. An attack like this couldn't be left unpunished in their eyes.

Soon after we were aboard the cloaked shuttle and leaving the Aratoht atmosphere undisturbed. Our mission had a few close calls, but I deemed it an overall success. It only confirmed my previous point, that meticulous planning of both primary and secondary courses of action were the way to go. Improvisation was nice and all, but without additional precautions it was always doomed to fail if lives were on the line.

Our undertaking also gave me some valuable insight into the workings of the Batarian Hegemony. It seemed like their forces seemed inflexible on the battalion level – there was a distinct lack of communication between their NCOs and the commissioned officers, caused by their strict hierarchy. From Lox's investigation I knew that the Batarian general staff had some good, strategically minded individuals and their squad work was as good as anywhere else. But the critical operational and tactical flexibility was missing – the procedures were too conservative and bureaucratic. It showed me that by decisively striking the command of the battalion or a brigade we could effectively paralyse the whole unit for some time. This knowledge would surely come in handy in our future battles against the Hegemony's military.

I looked at the restrained batarian officer. He stirred slightly, on the very cusp of waking up. Distantly, I remembered his foot striking my helmet. "I'm sorry Mr. Balak, we seem to be busy at the moment."

He groaned, but fell abruptly silent once again as my foot slammed into his face. "The waiting room is that way if you'd like to wait? Of course you would."

'All we have to do now is to convince Balak to join our cause,' I thought.

Better get the knuckledusters and the thumb-screws ready. And the family sized surveillance picture of his family, taken via rifle scope.

END OF CHAPTER 9

* * *

**A/N: So there it is - the second part of Chapter 9 is done. Please tell me what do you think so far and stay tuned for the Chapter 10 which may actually be slightly delayed, but worry not - I'm in the process of writing it as we speak. :)**


	19. Chapter 10 - Let The Hammer Fall, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: Happy New Year 2015 - hopefully it is better than the previous one and worse than the next one! Sorry for the longer than usual wait, but you know, holiday. :)**

**Here is the first part of Chapter 10 for your enjoyment. We're back from the mission and unfortunately things are not looking that bright. This part is about 6k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Let The Hammer Fall**

_They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country. But in modern war there is nothing sweet nor fitting in your dying. You will die like a dog for no good reason._

_Ernest Hemingway_

_There are hardly any excesses of the most crazed psychopath that cannot easily be duplicated by a normal, kindly family man who just comes in to work every day and has a job to do._

_Terry Pratchett_

* * *

Aboard 'Coronado'

In transit between the Crescent Nebula and the Hourglass Nebula mass relays

Earth Year: 2172

Our journey home was much less triumphant than I expected it to be. There had been a lapse in proper judgement, and I was practically beside myself with fury. The anger was especially potent, because I was the one at fault. I sat at the table in the mess smoking my second cigarette that evening and cursing my own stupidity. Our mission seemed to have gone off without a hitch and it looked like I had everything under control and going the way I wanted it to. That was until my artificial intelligence XO dropped the bomb.

Imagine what – it turns out that I did kick Balak a bit too hard after all. In fact, my strike was strong enough to put him in a bloody coma! Lox placed the unconscious batarian in our med-bay and run some scans on his body, but so far he could give us no estimation of when, or even if, he would wake up. Neither could he determine whether I'd caused any permanent brain damage, because batarian physiology was in many ways different from a humans. Sure, we had access to the extranet and even the batarian databases, but it still took time to process and apply that knowledge. The time we were wasting now, trying to fix up my fucking mistakes was the same time that could be used in making inroads in bringing down the Hegemony's dictatorship instead.

'Good going, Dubois. You had one job and you blew it,' I berated myself, taking a small sip of the whiskey bottle that I bought on Citadel when I was there. I had to burn my cash on something and in the absence of any other personal expenses alcohol, at the time, seemed as good an option as any. Also, it seemed like the alarm caused during our infiltration of the Aratoht Gamma base was my fault too. I didn't take into consideration that the scanning device at the gate also measured the weight of the vehicle. They calculated it as we passed and even after taking the driver into account it turned out that our transporter was way too heavy – my own weight and the weight of the armour I was wearing added up to a hundred kilos, which caused the guards to investigate. I was angry at myself for not thinking about it at the time.

I barely raised my head when I heard the door open. Still my hand went for my non-existent pistol of its own volition. I wasn't stupid enough to pack heat when I was drinking alcohol. It's like drinking and driving – you just don't fucking do it.

It was Corporal Tabitha Rakehal. She entered the mess and sat down at the table across from me. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me, lips pursed in disappointment. I found myself checking her out as well.

She wasn't a classic beauty and you wouldn't look at her twice on the street. Her skin had an olive tint and while she was attractive in her own way I preferred not to regard her in that light, since she was my subordinate. Like with most of the humans in the Mass Effect galaxy there was some visible gene tweaking here and there, but compared to the likes of Miranda Lawson she was as natural as they come. Her only distinctive quality, apart from her darkish red hair, were the piercing black eyes. These eyes looked at me now with a disappointment and a hint of pity. Unsurprisingly she broke the tense silence first.

"How long are you going to hide here, el-tee?" Her tone of voice was sharp and assertive.

"I'm not hiding, corporal," I drawled, refusing to look her in the eye and focusing at the whiskey bottle instead. I reflected that it was the first time in my life that I could afford to purchase a proper Blue Label on a whim…

My musings were cut short by Tabitha's sharp tone, before I could drift off into my own little world.

"With all due respect, Lieutenant Dubois, get off your ass and get your shit together. That batarian twit going into coma is hardly the end of the world yet."

I snorted.

"Why is it when your subordinates say 'with all due respect' they mean everything but that?"

With practiced ease she ignored my witty quip and said, "For what's it worth our raid gave us some valuable insight into the abilities of Batarian elite troops. I'm sure that we can use this information in the long run, sir."

I looked at her sharply and my raised tone of voice brooked no argument.

"That is a fantastic way to look at recent events. Clearly, circumstantial data regarding troop training utterly eclipses the fact that we might not be able to complete the primary objective. When I want your input on the overall strategic planning I will bloody ask for it, corporal!"

To her credit, Corporal Rakehal was not at all fazed by my outburst. She responded pointedly

"I think I know what's eating you, el-tee, because I know your type very well. You're just like my husband. You got pissed off because the world refused to fit into your nice, clean timetable and when it wouldn't budge you threw a temper tantrum like an offended Queen of Omega."

To be completely honest, I don't think that Aria T'Loak would ever throw a temper tantrum; she was the type to get dangerous instead. But Tabitha was still talking, her voice scolding me like an unruly child.

"A newsflash, el-tee – nothing ever goes according to the plan! I would have assumed that someone who works for Alliance black ops would know that, but I guess I was wrong."

"I don't have to explain myself to you…" I started, but she interrupted me, ignoring all established military conventions on speaking with a superior officer.

"No you don't need to explain, el-tee, but you still need to maintain the chain of command. Your men need to know that they can count on you to keep a level head in any situation. The people you lead need to know that they can fall back onto you when things go wrong. Do you know what kind of message your current behaviour send to your subordinates? Let me tell you – that you are weak and that the smallest mistake on our side will be fatal, because you just can't handle the pressure. That you turn to alcohol and drugs to cover your personal shortcomings."

The last sentence she finished quietly, her eyes squinting as if it reminded her of something more personal. If I were Shepard I would have vowed to investigate it, but I wasn't. If she ever wanted to talk to me about it, she would tell me in her own time. Not that I gave her the best impression as a commander right now. I think it might have been that small sliver of frailty that I saw behind that fierce exterior that prevented me from chewing her out. As it was, that combined with the fact that she was hitting a little close to home with her remarks, was staying my anger.

"Garem doesn't seem to mind…" I defended myself weakly.

"Rod'barr is an individualistic puke, who doesn't know a thing about discipline or leading other people," She snapped at me, her temper flaring up again.

I saw her in a new light right now. Intellectually, I was aware that she held the rank of corporal and that it brought certain responsibilities with it. But I did not expect her to actually have the gall to lecture me on leadership. It was… positively inspiring.

She shook her head at me, her eyes blazing with emotions.

"You did well in the field, el-tee – a blind man could see that. But your current meltdown is simply unbecoming, sir," She put a strong emphasis on the honorific to drive the point home.

With that, she stood up and saluted me respectfully, acknowledging my rank. I stood up as well and returned the salute.

"Thank you corporal," I gave her a small nod, hoping to convey my gratitude at her timely intervention. It was true that she spoke out of line, but she did it in private and well… I needed that talk.

She responded with a thin smile and made to leave our small mess hall. But before she could, I called her back. "Corporal, while I fully appreciate the advice you've just given me and the spirit in which it was offered, I'm ordering you never to talk that way about WO Rod'barr in front of me again. Regardless of his personal proclivities, he is still a superior officer. Am I understood?"

She pursed her lips once again, but I think she understood that her previous points upon leadership and the respect thereof would be completely invalidated if she herself couldn't follow doctrine. I also think that the fact I was finally doing the job of an officer helped her accept the order in good grace. She saluted, and left silently.

I admit – she gave me something to think about.

But Tabitha was right. I wasn't some emotional idiot. I was a Security Branch officer for God's sake! Gnashing my teeth at the unfairness of it all and getting drunk was all good and dandy when done in my own time, but I was on the job now. I still had the reports to prepare and mission debriefings to do. I'd already skipped on these responsibilities for the last day or so and I just couldn't put it off anymore. My petty and selfish side wanted to blame everything else for the partial failure of the mission, but the facts were hard to dispute. It was my poor handling of Balak that might just have cost us a vital war asset in our campaign against the Batarian Hegemony.

But the war wouldn't wait for me and I had to pull my weight still. Sure, Balak's incapacitation put a bump on our way, but as Corporal Rakehal has pointed out – it was not the end of the world. As oft quoted by the Security Branch, LeRoy Vatell said, 'No matter how bad it gets, there is always one more thing you can do.' I would hope for the best where it concerned our batarian prisoner, but I still had a lot of work to do. Just because my batarian Fidel Castro in training was indisposed for now it didn't mean that I couldn't make the Hegemony bleed in the meantime. If we started a campaign of terror against the Hegemony's military and infrastructure we would greatly destabilize their power base. If the batarians saw that their government was slow to respond to threats and then unable to find the culprits, they will lose their fear of the administration. It was true to some extent that the glue that held the Batarian Hegemony together was the traditional xenophobia of the batarians. But a much more important factor was their rabid fear of the violent repercussions against the dissidents and of the legendary brutality of the Batarian Internal Police Force. Take that away and not even the batarians apathy at their government would stop them from rising against the Hegemony, especially if I provide them with the right tools to do that and an ideology to rally behind.

I found myself rather blasé about the whole idea of organizing an insurrection and possibly a very bloody civil war. Yes, the possible repercussions would be huge, and casualties were more than guaranteed, but the other option was to do nothing – and it was nothing short of criminal since I knew the outcome.

Finally putting down the barely touched bottle of whiskey I stood up and headed for my quarters to wash, shave and change. It took me half an hour to refresh and make myself somewhat presentable. Foregoing the regular jumpsuit, I decided to put on the uniform that I received from the Blue Suns. I hadn't had a chance to wear it yet, choosing to wear the civilian clothes instead. But Tabitha was right – I had to make the right impression and restore some of their faith in my command.

I'd barely spoken to anyone since our mission was adjourned, but I had no more time for moping about and wallowing in self-pity. Shit doesn't always go your way and sometimes you just have to take it in your stride.

After putting on the uniform and making sure that everything was in place I left my room. I walked swiftly through the corridors of my ship and opened the door to the command room. With a confident stride I entered the bridge of our small corvette. Garem, Tabitha and Lox looked at me and I acknowledged them with a simple nod. I walked to the captain's seat and sat down looking around.

"Warrant Officer," I barked at Garem. "How long until we reach the Hourglass Nebula?"

My batarian navigator blinked for a moment, but he responded without a hesitation.

"Six days, el-tee."

"Make it five." I ordered, knowing full well that we were running at a rather economic speed so far. The 'Coronado' could do way better than that.

"Yes, sir," He responded obediently and focused on his console.

I turned to Lox whose blue silhouette was visible standing next to one of the computers. He tilted his head in a questioning manner.

"Lox, I want you to revive Balak ASAP. Clone him if you must. I don't care what it takes; I need him alive and talking."

I almost said to bring in the Interactive Dislocation Department, but it wouldn't do in the present company. The artificial man simply nodded and said.

"At once, lieutenant Dubois." It was the moments like these that made me cherish his military programming. Lox was always laconic and straight to the point.

Finally, I turned to Corporal Rakehal, who sat at her usual place at the communications console. At the mention of cloning, her face had slipped a few traces of surprise, and perhaps even anger. But she brought it under control quickly.

"Corporal, use my personal network link to contact to Mr. Massani or Mr. Dal'Serah and request a full report on the status of the shipyards on Acheron. I was made aware that we have already invested more than three million credits into this endeavour and I want to confirm that there have actually been results."

"Roger that, lieutenant," She acknowledged my order with a barely visible smile.

Yes, ordering people around definitely had its merits. I took out my holo-tablet and opened its writing app to get started on my mission report, which would be submitted to the Security Branch. I sighed quietly as I started to write:

'_Mission Code: 'Thin Ice'_

_Mission Type: False flag infiltration of a secure military facility_

_Place of Deployment: Aratoht Gamma military facility; planet Aratoht; Bahak System; Viper Nebula_

_Mission Target: Acquisition of Commander Ka'hairal Balak of the Batarian External Forces – further referred to as Target Charlie_

_Rules of Engagement: Maintain cover until extraction. In the event of discovery, enable option 'Flaming Arrow' – read more below._

_At zero nine hundred hours we deployed onto the planet surface with an acquired enemy vehicle and a single drone overwatch. The designated driver for the vehicle was the local asset, one [Garem Rod'barr; Warrant Officer; Blue Suns PMC – further referred to as Delta 2], while I [Peter Dubois; Lieutenant; 213__th__Infiltration Brigade; External Affairs Bureau – further referred to as Delta 1] occupied the passenger compartment under a cloaking device. The transport was used to traverse enemy territory under a false flag operation with fabricated marching orders for Target Charlie…'_

Now having some experience with the military procedures, I wrote the report in a concise manner, rewriting some of the more questionable parts and removing unnecessary details. That's how it was done in the Security Branch and I really took Galtieri's lessons on the reporting to heart:

"Don't write anything more than the absolutely vital info. We don't care about the colour of the flowers you saw on the way there. We don't want to read about your disgust with the enemy's head falling apart. Provide only the details that are mission critical, nothing else. Here you will always have enough paperwork to do Dubois – don't make it any more difficult for yourself or for the others."

I smiled as I remembered the Captain's pained face, as he explained to me this less than spectacular aspect of military service. It seemed like many practices were universal or rather multiversal, though. I learned that the Systems Alliance was almost as bad as the Confederacy and even the Blue Suns had to keep their paperwork in order if only to keep their employees paid on time. I still considered myself somewhat lucky, because when it comes to the written bureaucracy and convoluted practices, the Batarian Hegemony was in a category of its own. Now I had to make it all work for my benefit.

The Mass Effect galaxy was an advanced society, but it had its flaws too. One of them was the lack of real external and internal threats. Or rather – they had the enemies, but nobody was taking them seriously and it resulted in complacency. Normally it would be beneficial to any society, allowing it to focus on trade and production, but in this case it allowed the Geth, the Reapers and Cerberus to make huge inroads and deal heavy blows during the early stages of the war. That had to change and for that we needed more than just one Shepard trying to keep everything together.

On the other hand, if Shepard decided to join us I'd be more than glad to dump everything on his (or her) shoulders.

* * *

Acheron Shipbuilding Co. 'ARGO' facility

Planet Acheron (LV-426)

Hourglass Nebula

Earth Year: 2172

I entered the office confidently and looked around with a quiet whistle. The previously utilitarian metal furniture was replaced by much more elegant and streamlined synthetic designs. It seemed futuristic and functional and it was also rather expensive-looking, but not ostensibly so.

"Wow… that looks really cool, Massani. It seems like the cash we provide you with is truly money well spent," I said sardonically.

The mercenary looked up from the orange computer screen and looked at me with an amused expression.

"Shut it, Dubois. If I'm to be an Executive for the Blue Suns then my office will look the bloody part," He drawled.

"Perhaps for your birthday I should buy you an outfit like Jath'amon wears? I wonder how you would look in silk clothes," I continued the line of jibes, referring to the batarian ambassador's well-known fondness for expensive asari clothing.

"I'm strongly reconsidering breaking your neck for good measure, boy."

I raised my hands in defeat, not willing to tease the grumpy merc anymore. He was not the type to follow up on such idle threats – if Zaeed Massani ever wanted to kill you, he won't be giving you any warnings – but the joke is only funny if you take it so far.

"Alright, alright. By the way, Zaeed, you did a truly magnificent job here. We are still a long way from being ready to take on the enemy, but we are getting there faster than I anticipated."

Zaeed nodded with a completely straight face, but I could clearly see that he too was satisfied with the progress so far.

I admit that the more time I spent in his company, the more I grew to like the legendary veteran. I admired his military accomplishments just like virtually everybody else, but to my surprise it was the management work where Massani truly shined. You wouldn't expect that, but it was true. He had a much more hands-on approach in comparison to Vido Santiago, but he also had a clear vision of where he was taking the company. The late Vido was more of an opportunist – a very good one I'd give him that – but it was Zaeed's leadership that could and would take the Blue Suns to their true heights.

For me personally, seeing as I had been dealing on a daily basis with the Confederacy's bureaucratic hurdles, Zaeed's no-nonsense, direct approach was a welcome change. While I agreed on principle with the notion that we should trust in the institutions rather than the individuals, there were times when I wondered whether putting efficiency before bureaucracy was really such a bad idea. In some way I'd become a convert to the libertarian approach of outsourcing various aspects of running the country to the private sector. It really seemed to work, at least as far as the lawless Terminus was concerned.

On the way here I took my time to inspect the Argo, Bahak and Taetrus Fields shipyards and I was glad to see that all of them had expanded extensively, despite the limited time they had so far. All of them were consolidated into one large conglomerate – Acheron Shipbuilding Co., a subdivision of the Blue Suns PMC – their resources pooling together and their particular roles assigned. Bahak would provide the armaments and electronic systems, while Taetrus Fields would focus on the elements of armour and engines. Argo would put everything together in their newest dry-dock. The largest ships would be partially constructed in the planet's orbit and the materials delivered via a huge orbital lift, which was still under construction. Many of the solutions that the Blue Suns were going to utilize here (like the aforementioned elevator) were not unknown in the Galaxy, but they were rarely used nonetheless due to their expense. For the Blue Suns, who could draw on the Confederacy's resources, money was not an issue.

At first I was sceptical of the enthusiastic reports that I received from Zaeed, Das'Maral and Solem, suspecting that they had embellished their own accomplishments in an effort to extort more money from the Security Branch. I was soon proven wrong, seeing as the three _de facto_ leaders of the Blue Suns with the help of their able lieutenants managed to do a total 180 degree turn when it came to the company's policy, in a very small span of time. While shipyards were being built and expanded, a respectably large small arms factory was established on Acheron. Currently they only produced the weaponry on the Haliat Armory license, but if things went well we would have plasma-coilguns rolling out in no time. Tarak swore that the new facility used all the newest and the best production equipment. If all of this could have been accomplished in a mere three months then in the future, the sky was literally the limit. The Blue Suns also actively recruited in the Citadel Space and anywhere else, their advertising putting a strong emphasis on bringing law and order to the erstwhile lawless territory. The benefits of such an approach had become apparent when the first batch of recruits, the new breed, left the Blue Suns training facilities and began deploying to their units. It did create some tension – new soldiers were driven more by the frontier spirit rather than their monetary needs and they were more ideological about their job than their predecessors. They clashed with the Blue Suns veterans, but the iron discipline of Zaeed's Boot Camp lived up to its hype. If all went well on that front, we could change the public perception of the Blue Suns to a significant degree – and we desperately needed to do so before the Reapers arrived. So while I spent my time arguing with the army of bureaucrats and lawyers for every credit, Zaeed and his people got things done. It did not matter to me in the long run though, as we were all working for the same goal, but it was still somewhat depressing.

"How long before we can get more of the Confederacy's technology?" asked Zaeed – as usual straight to the point.

I folded my hands in front of my face as I answered his question. It was a gesture that I'd picked up from learning about the batarian negotiators, which supposedly meant that we are going to bargain. Batarian culture put a strong emphasis on the non-verbal communication and gestures and I used every moment I had to practice it before I talk to Balak. If I even got the chance to talk to him.

"Until we can infiltrate the Batarian Hegemony and put our people in charge of it there won't be any technology transfers. I can't risk the technology getting into the hands of the Hegemony or some warlords in the Terminus or in the Attican Traverse before the time is right."

Zaeed shook his head at me with a snort.

"Stop speaking in riddles, Dubois. 'When the time is right' – what does that even mean? They will get their hands on your heaters one way or the other – and then they will reverse engineer it, whether you like it or not," Said the old mercenary impatiently.

Despite my best efforts when putting the data-transfer together, some information on the Confederacy's military technology was included, and Massani took an instant interest in it. I responded carefully.

"That's exactly what will happen, Zaeed. Once we have the Terminus under control and the Hegemony in at least cordial relations with the Citadel, I won't mind spreading the plasma-coilgun technology, because it will help us against the Reapers in the long run. But at the moment arming the batarians would be counterproductive, because they would use this technology to either settle their scores with the Systems Alliance or to raid the colonies for slaves. And I won't allow that."

"Then what are you going to do with the Hegemony?" He asked curiously.

I wondered for a moment how much I should tell him. Zaeed was an important ally and he was aware of the big picture. I still didn't feel comfortable with sharing the full plan with him, so I decided to remain vague for now.

"I plan on starting a revolution."

Zaeed Massani raised his eyebrows then snorted.

"Well I'll be buggered. You have it all figured out, don't you?" He laughed disparagingly. "Why not just walk up to the Hegemon himself and ask him for his job, eh?"

I frowned.

"I find it hard to determine whether you're joking or not."

"I'm not joking, laddie – just stating a fact."

"Trust me, I have a plan Zaeed. And what's with this whole 'laddie' business anyway? You keep calling me that and I know that you're not Scottish."

"It's because it suits you best, Dubois. You look like a brat and I wonder why of all people, they sent you to do this job."

Zaeed was ribbing me again, but I could sense his genuine curiosity on the subject at hand. I simply shrugged and answered.

"Probably because nobody will give a shit if I die," I said apathetically.

The old maverick grinned.

"Well, at least your boss is being honest about it." He pressed a button on the keyboard and the orange computer screen flickered and disappeared. Zaeed leaned my way and pointed his finger at me while scratching his chin, letting me know that my attempt at batarian non-verbal communication was not lost on him.

"So what's with your revolution, Dubois?" The gesture in question meant that he was cautiously interested. Oh heck, I had to get him on board anyway, because I needed the batarians that he had in his employment. I decided to give Zaeed some insight into my plan so far. In for a penny, in for a pound I guess.

"The Hegemony is corrupt, inefficient and brutal. Frankly, they are an abomination of a political system that is legitimized by the fear of their repression not by the will of its subjects. If I make the batarians lose faith in the capabilities of their government and give them an alternate ideology to rally behind, then I have a chance of creating a credible political force."

Zaeed looked at me, clearly amused by my speech.

"A true democrat, aren't you? I was right about you the first time – you should have joined the Alliance and be done with that."

It was my turn to smile as I massaged my wrist to signal my satisfaction with the current state of affairs.

"What I have in mind is not really a democracy, Zaeed. Are you familiar with the Bolshevik Revolution, by any chance?"

It took him a moment to remember the half-forgotten history lessons. Still, the horrible imprint that the Soviet Union and the dictate of the proletariat left on mankind made sure that Alliance citizens were still taught about it in school. After all, those who fail to learn from their history are doomed to repeat it.

"You mean like communism? Damn Dubois, what have the batarians ever done to you?"

I rolled my eyes at his reaction.

"I won't bring back Stalin's purges if that's what you're worried about; I'm not that depraved. I would rather try and recreate the socialist market economy of 21st century China. Batarians are already familiar with the one party state – they would be hopelessly lost in a democracy. Besides, a truly democratic system by definition would offer some protection to the people associated with the previous regime and would also provide them with political leverage – I don't want to allow that. I'd rather see the old slaveocracy broken than reformed. In addition, socialism has a catchy revolutionary and egalitarian rhetoric, which is perfect for people who have nothing to lose and everything to gain – like the slaves and the low-born batarians."

Zaeed still didn't seem too convinced of the merits of my argument but he opted for changing the topic.

"So what exactly is your plan, lieutenant?"

"My team and I will use batarian volunteers from the Blue Suns' ranks to carry out a series of terrorist attacks on vital elements of their military and industrial infrastructure. I plan on interrupting their weapons production and their transportation network as well as put their armed forces in a high alert status. At the same time I want to use our batarian assets to sow dissent among their population and raise their dissatisfaction with the current government."

Zaeed shook his head in exasperation.

"The batarians aren't as stupid as you think. They know that their government doesn't give a rat's ass about them and they don't care as long as they're left alone by the police. They won't follow you," He said dismissively.

"True," I agreed readily with a small nod. "The batarians want to be left alone and they know that the government is indifferent to their problems. But if they were made aware that their government is actively working to keep the 'little man' down they would be very angry indeed. I know I would be. And the batarians aren't as apathetic as you think they are, believe me Zaeed," I added, paraphrasing his previous statement, as I remembered the anti-government websites on the batarian extranet.

Massani tapped his fingers on the desk surface in thought. After a minute or so he nodded to himself and said, "Okay, let's assume for a moment that you're right. What makes you think that the batarians will accept some alien ideology, let alone fight for it?"

I waved my hand in a dismissive manner.

"I'm sure that I can spin the tale well enough to make them think that they figured it out for themselves. As for the fighting – the batarian higher castes live a life of decadent luxury while the lowborns toil day and night to put some food on their tables. If they do not care for the ideology, then simple greed and envy will do the trick."

Zaeed sighed and shrugged his shoulders, conceding the argument.

"It's your show, kid. Just remember to keep the money coming in and we'll have no problems on our side. By the way, have you figured it out all by yourself?"

"Of course not. I'm not that smart and I don't have the authority. The plan was created by the General Staff of the Brigade and it had to be approved by the Confederacy's government. I'm just here to carry out their orders. They give me a lot of freedom in the execution, but I'm held accountable for my actions."

I stood up and shook hands with Zaeed, not willing to bother him anymore. I knew that he had a lot of work on his hands and so did I. As I moved to the opened door his voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Just be careful out there, son."

I looked back at the old mercenary in surprise and he added with an expression so serious that it actually gave me a pause.

"All I'm saying is that war is a very nasty business. It's very easy to stay so focused on your distant objective that you lose touch with the here and now, Dubois. Sometimes you might have to do stuff that isn't exactly gentleman-like to get things done. And remember that 'only following orders' will only take you so far in this galaxy, lieutenant."

He sighed and just for a moment looked very weary, as if his respectable age had finally caught up with him.

"I get it – you're young and you want to change the world. This 'freedom of action' that your superiors gave you sounds a bit too good to be true. Just remember that, and don't let anyone make you a political scapegoat, Dubois."

I respected Zaeed's experience and put his advice into consideration. I knew that Massani had been in this business long enough to see the worst types of manoeuvres being pulled off by politicians and soldiers alike, sometimes even falling for them, as it was with Vido Santiago. Alas, for the moment there was nothing that I could do, but I would tread carefully nonetheless.

"I know that Zaeed, but thanks anyway," I said, forcing a carefree smile to my face.

With a quick nod I left his office letting the automatic door close behind me.

As I walked through the freshly renovated corridor I noticed a couple of Blue Suns mercenaries in their work clothes pulling the wall apart. They were busy replacing the old fiber optic cables with the new ones that had been delivered the week before. I was adamant with the Blue Suns management that the new shipbuilding facilities had to be the absolute top notch in any given aspect. This was to be the main hub for my future military-industrial complex and I wouldn't risk putting a cramp on our future production because someone decided to save money on the vital equipment.

I was greeted with polite nods from the mercs as I passed them by, but they never stopped their work even to salute me. I made it clear on the very first day that I had been to the facility: discipline is very important both in a PMC and in the regular military alike, but I throw it out of the window the moment it stopped any of my subordinates from giving a hundred percent. I valued efficiency and the productivity above all and I had to give credit where it was due – the Blue Suns were as ruthless and greedy as any, but only a total moron would call them incompetent.

I heard my omni-tool beep twice signalling an incoming message. I checked it out swiftly and smiled – it was from Lox. It seemed like he finally managed to wake up Commander Ka'hairal Balak. I felt the weight of the world being taken off of my shoulders, thanking whatever lucky stars that watched over me for this grace. Saved by the bell, eh?

Without any further delay I left the building and had one of the Blue Suns drive me to the train station. The maglev train, which was used for transporting goods between the three facilities, would then take me to the Taetrus Fields facility where we kept our prisoner.

* * *

**A/N: So there it is, first part of the Chapter 10. I hope it was worth the waiting time! Stay tuned for more.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	20. Chapter 10 - Let The Hammer Fall, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: ****Here is the second part of Chapter 10 for your enjoyment. Balak is alive and now Dubois wants to talk to him. Believe me - he won't be pulling any punches in this one, so readers' discretion is advised. This part is about 5,6k words long. Hope you enjoy it!**

**My beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

Acheron Shipbuilding Co. TAETRUS FIELDS facility

Planet Acheron (LV-426)

Hourglass Nebula

Earth Year: 2172

The Blue Suns were kind enough to provide me with a small warehouse for the purpose of keeping our 'guest' locked up and under constant surveillance. It was nothing fancy, but it suited my purposes just fine. The building was a generic pre-fab that you could find anywhere in the galaxy – it would keep Balak from identifying his surroundings. Additionally, the warehouse was soundproofed in the factory. No matter what we did with the batarian, nothing could be heard outside and the other way around, which suited me just fine. We had CCTV cameras installed inside the building to monitor our prisoner. An experienced and well-trained individual like Ka'hairal Balak would surely have undergone the batarian equivalent of SERE training so we wanted to look into his behaviour and find some sort of pattern in his daily routine when he was up and walking again.

When I entered the building the first person I saw was the Specialist Jean-Pierre Dessalines. I was rather surprised to see the dark-skinned doctor here, knowing that most of my squad was usually in Confederacy space.

"Hello there, doc. What are you doing here?"

Our medical specialist looked up from his terminal and, recognizing me, he stood up and saluted respectfully. The Security Branch rules still applied – when Dessalines attended in his capacity as a Medical Doctor I addressed him accordingly. When we were in the field, he was simply Specialist Dessalines.

"Good morning, lieutenant. Lox requested my assistance in dealing with the prisoner, seeing as he lacked the necessary expertise in that area. We worked together on waking up our esteemed guest."

His Haitian-like accent was as pronounced as ever. I knew that the good doctor could speak perfect English if he desired to, but I had a strong suspicion that he secretly enjoyed mangling the words and making the Anglos cringe with his French quips. I didn't really mind it, knowing that we all dealt with stress in our own way. As far as the personal quirks went, his were rather harmless especially when compared to my cigarettes and booze – I thought disparagingly.

"Thanks for dropping by, Jean-Pierre. Although when you finally accept an officer's commission I will be the one saluting you, I think," I said with a wide smile.

I approached him and we shook hands.

"I'm only thirty four, lieutenant. I won't let them put me behind a desk. There is still much good that I can do in the field, _non_?"

"Well, I'm definitely not sitting behind a desk, doc," I said wistfully, wishing for the job that I previously viewed with utter contempt.

I wondered sometimes about a cushy clerk position in the General Staff of some rear echelon unit. Just sipping on cappuccinos all day, wearing my Grade A dress blacks to pick up girls and counting the days until an early retirement. A disposable clone can dream, huh?

"Well, yes – you seem to hog all the excitement for yourself, lieutenant. But for people like me or Sergeant Polyakov promotion would mean placement in some Lord-forsaken base. _Merci beaucoup, _but I will pass."

I felt rather guilty that I didn't have much time to actually hang out with my squad like we did in the past back at Camp Bravo Two. They were a nice bunch, but my duties kept me in the Mass Effect Galaxy, so our meetings consisted mostly of planning and executing operations. It wasn't very often that we could talk about the more mundane stuff.

Still, the work as always comes first. We turned back to the terminal and Jean-Pierre used his omni tool to adjust the view. The screen showed us the feed from the camera installed in the batarian's cell. Ka'hairal was sitting on the hospital bed and thankfully he was looking better than I imagined. I smirked; Balak was one tough son-of-a-bitch and no mere coma would bring him down. I was elated nonetheless that my thoughtless manhandling hadn't left a lasting damage.

"How is he doing, doc?" I asked watching the batarian. He was aware that he was being watched and he didn't move at all.

"Our visitor _extra-terrestre_ seems to be the quiet type. He doesn't move at all and he doesn't talk to anyone."

The doctor's casual tone put me on alert. I didn't want them to get too relaxed around Balak. He was an elite commando and was as ruthless as they came.

I turned to the dark-skinned specialist and said forcefully, "Do not, I repeat, do not underestimate our prisoner. He is a highly-trained Special Forces operative and he will not hesitate to capitalize on any weakness that you show him. Have you been following my instructions so far?"

"Yes, lieutenant. All personnel who enter his holding cell wear full body armour and cover their faces with helmets at all times. Helmets with four-eye pieces. Knowing the similarities in body silhouette between us and them it might as well be that he is not yet aware that he had been captured by humans."

I smiled.

"Good, I want to keep it that way. Give our prisoner food and water, but do not engage in any interactions whatsoever. I will be the only one that talks to him."

Dessalines nodded wordlessly as he typed on his computer terminal, his 'doctor-mode' in full swing right now. He wrote a short annotation in his opened document and asked me without looking up.

"Lieutenant, do you want me to prescribe any drugs to our prisoner?"

"Good question, I haven't really considered that until now. Have we got any mood-altering medication that can be safely consumed by a batarian?"

"There are quite a few pharmaceuticals that would produce similar effects on both batarians and humans. Batarians are levo-aminoacidic omnivores and they have iron-based blood just like we do, even if theirs is a shade darker. Despite the obvious phenotypic differences between our two species, like the number of eyes or the skin tissue, I would say that on a genetic level we have much more in common with the batarians than say, with the asari. I'm not a geneticist by trade, obviously, but it has the potential for a scientific prize at least. During my work on reviving Balak from his coma I also took time to forward some of my findings to Dr. Vassilevskiy from the Interactive Dislocation Department – I believe that you two are acquainted. He is a leading specialist on the Confederacy sanctioned genome research project and they were all rather curious about the specimen that we acquired."

Dessalines hesitated slightly, wondering whether he had said too much.

"We received no prior warning that this project was classified besides the obvious fact that we are unlawfully detaining a Batarian Hegemony's citizen. Have I overstepped my boundaries, _monsieur_?"

To be perfectly honest I didn't really care whether the information on the batarian gene-mapping was sent to IDD or not, seeing as it was probably common knowledge in the Mass Effect galaxy. The Confederacy's academic circles would get their hands on it one way or the other since, as per Confederacy's laws, as long as the information wasn't specifically classified then it was public knowledge.

"That's fine, doc. As long as the data that you gather is purely scientific in nature I have no problem with you sharing the information with your colleagues," I said amiably, desperately wanting to change the topic, as I knew that once you allowed Dessalines to talk about the minutiae of medical science then he would talk your ears off, and as much as I usually enjoyed discussing such things this was simply too much. I hoped that he and Mordin Solus never meet.

The good doctor seemed to catch my drift though and cleared his throat.

"Right… the drugs. Seeing as we only have a very basic understanding of the subject's physiology I would strongly advise against using the more invasive nanotech solutions. We simply don't know enough about batarian brain structure yet and I'm afraid that it could have unwanted side effects. Our nanotech is definitely the most potent in regards to mood-altering but I think it should be considered a last resort, lieutenant."

"What about Mass Effect drugs? Like Red Sand?"

"I'm afraid that Red Sand does not work on batarians, lieutenant. Red Sand in the Hegemony is used by the non-batarian population. As for the other drugs used in Sub-verse Number 524 I unfortunately do not have enough knowledge about them to safely prescribe them to our prisoner."

"Alright, fair enough. What do you suggest then, doc?"

Dessalines opened another document on his terminal and quickly scanned its contents.

"Lox and I did the preliminary examination of our subject, prior to Commander Balak waking up. It strongly indicates that he would be susceptible to anti-psychotic pharmaceuticals much like the human detainees. Small doses of such chemicals could put him in a state of confusion, which in turn would make him more malleable to emotional manipulation, lieutenant."

I pursed my lips in thought.

"Are you sure that there will be no side-effects, Jean-Pierre? I don't want Balak to go into anaphylactic shock or something, if batarians turn out to be allergic to our drugs. He is vital to the plans put together by the General Staff, and me putting him in a coma was already cutting it too close."

The dark-skinned medical specialist massaged his face with a sigh.

"I'm sorry lieutenant, but I can't give you a one hundred percent guarantee. The simulations that Lox and I have done so far indicate that everything should be just fine, but there is always a chance..." he trailed of.

Yep, I knew that Murphy could be an asshole like that. Once again, I had to make a choice that could make me or break me so to speak. A drugged Balak was a confused Balak and confused Balak was more likely to lead our little, batarian revolution. On the other hand we'd already nearly lost him once and it was entirely because of me. My previous failure could have been excused by the general chaos of our extraction, but now I had to take full responsibility for my decision. Two mess-ups in a row was damning evidence.

Fuck it. It had to be done one way or the other. I nodded to myself and said, "Dope him up, doc. Make sure that you give him small doses and keep monitoring his vitals at all times. The last thing I want is for Balak to get addicted to drugs while in our custody."

Dessalines responded promptly.

"Yes, sir. I will dissolve the medication in his drinking water. He won't even be aware that he's acting under the influence."

I nodded, acknowledging his answer and walked to the other room, which had the main control station. There we had a large screen that showed us the live feed from the various cameras installed inside Balak's cell.

It was rather cramped, roughly five by five meters, because we only had so much space in the pre-fab warehouse. It contained a small bed and an even smaller table. Neither of them could be moved as they were welded to the floor, because I wanted to prevent the prisoner from acquiring improvised weapons or attempting suicide with them. Perhaps that was going a bit too far, but I couldn't risk it.

The cell had only one door and it was shut. It also led to another room where we had two chairs and a small table, which would be our interrogation room. The prisoner's chair was again welded to the floor and it had additional protrusions that would allow me to tie the prisoner up if necessary. I'd prefer to avoid that if I could, but better to be safe than sorry.

I sat in the control room in a comfortable armchair and looked at the sitting Balak. I wanted to let him steam a little inside before talking to him and besides, I still had to wait for the good doctor to administer the drugs. We fed our prisoner at regular intervals for the time being, but should he prove to be less than cooperative that could very well change.

I stretched my legs and rested them on the control panel, taking extra care not to step on any buttons or holographic keys. Knowing that I had at least a couple of hours to spare I took out my holo-tablet and turned it on. A quick online search revealed a website, which was streaming assorted television series for a small fee. I recently got addicted to one of the asari soap operas – '_Hyetiana Hotel_' – and religiously watched every episode. The plot was rather straightforward: it took place in a small hotel on Illium that was visited by all types of random characters. There was a standing cast that got up to various shenanigans and kept falling in love with each other and other people. The writing in it was so bad and cheesy that it actually felt good to watch it for some cheap laughs. Recently my life was so hectic and dangerous that this stupid television series gave me a much needed dose of normalcy. Well, if you counted getting pregnant or seduced every other episode normal.

And besides, I was strongly rooting for the asari waitress, Catriona T'Visah, to finally notice the, admittedly rather clumsy, advances of her krogan admirer. I agreed with her that krogan's choice of employment as a Blood Pack chief enforcer left much to be desired. But still, couldn't she see that Brax was the proverbial Jerk with the Heart of Gold, who truly loved her? He spent half of his salary to help the Illium orphanage, after all. All these love manoeuvres were rather embarrassing, but they made for a compelling story. Well... not really. But with everything that had been going around lately and with the long hours spent aboard the 'Coronado', the cheesy dialogues and the awkward lovemaking scenes were my salvation as they kept me from going completely insane.

'I can't believe that I used to hate soap operas. I was young and foolish.' I thought ironically as I sat comfortably and opened a can of soda. That was one way to waste a couple of hours.

* * *

I sat in the uncomfortable metal chair in the interrogation room. Thankfully, I wore my full Interceptor armour both to obscure my face and silhouette as well as to guarantee my protection in case Balak got any ideas. I was trained by the best, but the first lesson I learned as a Security Branch operative was: never underestimate any enemy. On a higher note, wearing my armour meant that I could inflate the padding under my bottom, while Balak would have to endure sitting in the metal chair. I knew it was designed that way to keep the prisoner on the edge, but I swear that an iron maiden was more comfortable.

'If I were truly the Gestapo he would be sitting on an upturned stool,' I thought wryly.

I put my holo-tablet on the simple table and tapped my fingers impatiently. To my silent relief the door to the cell opened and two Security Branch soldiers led our batarian prisoner into the interrogation room. They sat him down unceremoniously and strapped his limbs to the chair. When they were done Balak had enough room to stretch his arms and legs fairly comfortably, but he wouldn't be able to stand up or move towards me unless we removed the polymer flexicuffs first.

I signalled with my finger and two soldiers left without a word. I gave our prisoner a good look.

Despite his imprisonment Balak seemed to be fairly well off. We gave him the right amount of food to keep him stable, but not quite enough to make the hunger fully go away. Everything, from the uncomfortable chair to lack of food was calculated to keep our prisoner on the edge and make him more susceptible to manipulation. If I wanted to break Balak and have him spill the beans it would be relatively simple. But to convince him to join our side – that was much trickier.

"Your name, surname and rank," I said curtly. My voice was distorted on purpose by my armoured suit's speaker to hide my identity for now.

Batarian looked at me and responded.

"Ka'hairal Balak, Commander."

I jotted down the name on my report. While it was rather redundant since I already knew who he was, the formalities had to be observed. _Carte Blanche_ was all well and good, but the paperwork had to be in order at all times.

"Commander Balak, your last place of deployment was the External Forces facility 'Aratoht Gamma' on the Aratoht colony world, is that correct?"

This time Balak didn't respond. Not that I expected him to, since the base officially did not exist.

"Is that correct?!" I raised my voice slightly to indicate my irritation.

"I can't answer that question," He said simply.

"You don't have to answer this question; we already know that you were there," I told him in a dismissive manner.

I typed in something on my holo-tablet and turned the display his way to show him the burned out ruins of the facility. It seemed that our infiltration-turned-sabotage went even better than expected when the External Forces fuel dumps caught fire. Of course, Balak was not aware of that seeing as he was unconscious most of the time.

"You have made quite a mess, commander," My tone was light, almost conversation-like. We might have as well been discussing the weather. "Your traitorous actions cost the Hegemony dearly, but you failed to get away."

Balak scanned the few pictures. He hid it well, but I noticed that he was shaken by the destruction. Aratoht was pretty much one of the Hegemony's core worlds and as such it was considered to be a relatively safe planet. Balak also seemed to think that I was a batarian, possibly an Internal Police Force officer – which was exactly what I'd been going for, by wearing full body armour and ordering others to do so as well. Still, when he answered his voice remained calm.

"I was assaulted by an NCO with an unknown accomplice who arrived with my marching orders. I was not aware that there was any damage done to the Aratoht Gamma facility, let alone that I could be the man behind it. Since I am with you would it be safe to assume that my captors were apprehended as well?"

I banged my hand on the table with a considerable force. It was rather satisfying to see that Balak flinched ever so slightly. Even army officers feared the Internal Police Force and it also seemed that the drugs were starting to take their toll on our prisoner.

"You do not get to ask questions, commander! We are here to discuss the treason that you have committed!" I yelled, my voice distorted by the speaker.

Treason, real or imagined, was one of the most serious offences in the Batarian Hegemony's military. With how paranoid the batarian establishment was, treason was a tool that was often used to get back at political enemies as it guaranteed a lengthy prison sentence at the very least.

"I did not commit any treason…" He started once again, but I interrupted him.

"Your traitorous actions were despicable. They resulted in the destruction of Hegemony property and the deaths of nearly a hundred of our valiant soldiers. You can rest assured that you and your family will pay for it."

Bingo! Balak's aura of calm nonchalance disappeared momentarily when I mentioned his family. I did some background checks on Ka'hairal when I got access to the files that the Batarian Internal Police Force had on him (to keep leverage, I suspected). They were all in agreement that Balak was very strongly devoted to his wife and young daughter. And being held responsible for indirectly killing a hundred men was a very serious offence no matter what position you held previously. When it came to betrayal, Batarian law was literally draconian.

"No, not my family, please…" he stammered, fear evident in his eyes.

"Your wife is in our custody at the moment as is your daughter. If you agree to cooperate with our investigation they will not be harmed. Should you fail to do so, your wife will be personally acquainted with the workings of the mining operations on Aratoht. After your direct sabotage of the Hegemony's efforts our department believes it's a suitable punishment for her. Your daughter of course will be branded and sold. His Excellency the Hegemon himself found her rather… interesting."

There were rumours going around that the batarian Hegemon had a taste for young children. I personally doubted that they were true, but for now it suited me just fine. Meanwhile, Balak's skin turned a rather interesting shade of light grey. The combination of diluted drugs and a threat to his family was getting to him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir! Whatever I might have done, my family can't be held responsible!" he yelled, panic evident in all four of his eyes.

"You are a traitor to the Hegemony, commander! You are an abolitionist scum and a saboteur!" I shouted at the prisoner.

"But my daughter is only seven years old! She cannot be guilty of any crime!"

I stood up and leaned menacingly toward the shivering batarian. It seemed like our drugs worked even better than expected.

"Everyone's guilty until proven innocent." I said coldly, quoting the proverb often used by the secret police.

I snapped my fingers and the two guards from before dragged the cursing Balak away. He was threatening me one moment and begging me for mercy the second as they deposited him back in the cell. Even knowing with whom I was dealing with here, I still felt like the lowest scum.

'When are you going to stop, Dubois?' asked my treacherous brain, but I studiously ignored it.

Outside of the interrogation room I saw Jean-Pierre. While I spun our web of lies around Ka'hairal, the good doctor was busy monitoring our prisoner's vitals. I took off my helmet and gave him a quizzical look to which he responded with a shrug.

"Everything is in order, lieutenant. Balak is rather distressed, should I provide him with the sedatives?"

I shook my head as I went further, Dessalines falling into step behind me.

"No, let him steam a little bit," I said curtly.

"If you don't mind me asking, lieutenant, but how long do you intend to keep this fiction up?"

"For as long as it's needed, doctor." I responded sharply. "In the meantime I would like to get in touch with Lox and plant some evidence to link Balak to our sabotage effort on Aratoht. It is also imperative that we take his wife and daughter into custody. We will require some leverage in our negotiations."

"Of course, lieutenant. Although, I think that taking his family hostage will make him distrust us even more."

We entered the small control station where we could observe our prisoners. While Dessalines sat down at the control panel and started monitoring the situation in the prison cell I made a beeline towards the equipment locker to leave my cumbersome armour. As I took off my greaves I responded to his sceptical statement.

"We don't need him to trust us, doc. We need him to keep the Hegemony together when we overthrow the current government. I don't expect him to invite me to his daughter's birthday; I just want him to do his job."

Notice that I said 'when' not 'if' as I mentioned the rebellion that we were planning. For all its difficulty I had no illusions that we would prevail. Even if the Hegemony were ultra-competent and undivided (which they weren't) the resources and technologies that we had in our disposal so far gave us a distinct edge. Even in the worst case scenario, we could still funnel money and resources to keep the insurgency in batarian territory alive. Anything to keep the Batarians occupied and away from the Leviathan of Dis, although I couldn't be sure whether they already captured it or not.

I sighed again – so much to do and not enough time. I checked the screens that monitored the interior of the cell. Balak had already stopped trashing about and now lay on his bunk. He was still restrained, but I would soon send men in and take them off – for now I'd let him rethink my threats with the cuffs on. I checked the time on my omni-tool; it was already past 9pm. At that hour we usually turned off the lights in the cell to let our prisoner get some sleep. Not this time.

"Make sure that the main light in Balak's cell is turned on all night long. Increase the brightness to maximum around midnight and keep it up for three hours before you lower it again. I'll see you later doc," I said and left the control room without waiting for his response. I still had a revolution to arrange.

That was a fairly common interrogation tactic – it would keep the prisoner from falling asleep thus messing about with his day and night cycle. I would refrain from using more physical methods of coercion as long as we kept up with the charade of the batarian internal police.

The knuckledusters and thumb-screws would have to wait for now, but I was more than willing to use Balak's family against him. I had no intention of harming them… yet.

* * *

I probably should have expected that when I explained my plan to the Blue Suns command.

"You want to do WHAT?" thundered Solem Dal'Serah.

Perhaps I was imagining things, but it seemed like the sheer strength of his voice made the batarian figurines he kept on his desk shake in fear. There was no sign of the haughty lisp from before, because the batarian Co-Executive was positively livid.

"I don't think I misspoke and I'm sure that your translator is working just fine," I answered coldly. I wasn't about to be intimidated by some merc with delusions of grandeur.

"This… this… This is an OUTRAGE!" bellowed Solem. He put a strong emphasis on the last word. Solem's high-caste upbringing was showing now; the man was a natural orator.

He looked around for support, eyeing the people who sat around the table in _Argo's_ now familiar conference room. Zaeed was the only man standing. He was, as always, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed and radiating his I-don't-give-a-damn attitude more than usual. Commander Tarak seemed more preoccupied with his omni-tool than with the proceedings. Lt. Commander Orelan was eyeing me as if I'd grew a second head, his mandibles hanging down in shock, while Lt. Commander Loray was, if it was even possible, scowling more than usual. Once again, she was the first to break the silence.

"Solem, he's going to fucking kill us all," Arien stated plainly.

"This is complete madness, lieutenant," added Quintus Orelan.

"You want to strike against the Hegemony? THE Hegemony?" Solem's voice was quieter now, but no less firm for it. "Commander Loray is right – you will kill us all. The Hegemony will not stand for a PMC fermenting a slave rebellion."

I eyed my detractors coldly before responding.

"Let's make something crystal clear – I'm not asking for your permission. I'm merely informing you of what is going to transpire in the following days. Our enemies are infiltrating the Hegemony as we speak, using the Reaper carcass that the Hegemony found a few years ago. Their personnel are being slowly indoctrinated and the only way to reverse that process is to gain full control of the batarian space and destroy the Leviathan of Dis."

There was no choice in the matter, because time was the only commodity that we didn't have. I had to act fast, and the only way to slow down the indoctrination process of the batarians was to force the Hegemony to divert their resources away from their study of the Reaper. With the forces I had currently at my disposal it could be done in one way only – starting an insurrection in Hegemony space and forcing the regime to shuffle their military forces. Of course, there was no guarantee that a mere threat of civil disobedience and war would make the batarians leave the Reaper for the time being, but I had to take this chance.

"The Hegemony's current political system is inefficient, unstable and in the grand scheme of things completely untenable. As you all know, decisions made by the Batarian Hegemony in the nearest future had resulted in a huge death toll when the Reapers finally struck. For that reason, after much deliberation, the decision had been made by the General Staff of the 213th Infiltration Brigade to engineer a regime change."

I let them chew on that for a moment. Orelan seemed more or less pacified – I guess that my utilitarian approach resonated well with his pragmatic soul. Zaeed already agreed to it, even if he had his own misgivings. Tarak would do as Zaeed said, because he trusted his better judgment. Loray and Dal'Serah were the wild cards still, but it seemed like Arien would support any decision that Solem made. I looked at the batarian Co-Executive as he was quietly steaming.

"Executive Dal'Serah, is there something on your mind?" I asked, making sure to keep my tone neutral.

While I paid all their bills now, sounding patronizing towards the Blue Suns command would have been deeply counterproductive. But despite my careful approach Solem was aggravated nonetheless.

"You seek to destroy the roots of batarian culture, lieutenant! And all of us will be caught in the crossfire, when it blows up!" he shouted.

I raised my hands in a conciliatory manner.

"You're wrong, Solem. I seek to preserve as many batarians as I can. If you have any better ideas, then let's hear them out."

"Tell the Hegemony's Council of Five what you know. Make them understand what a dangerous game they play!" he snarled in response.

"And then what? You know it and I know it that these spoiled idiots don't care whether the galaxy burns or how many of their people die. Even if they believe me that is no guarantee that they will do something about it, rather than save their own sorry arses. I can't take that risk. I need to have strong-willed and competent people in charge of Batarian Space, because in ten years it's going to be a front line."

In fact Solem's idea went through my mind more than once. Unfortunately, the simulations that we did back in Camp Bravo Two, based on our extensive surveillance of the Batarian Hegemony, clearly stated that their current form of governance wasn't flexible enough to stand against the Reapers in the window of time that we had. Besides, there was no way that the Confederacy would allow the slaveocracy like that to exist in their sphere of influence and Mass Effect galaxy was effectively considered one. So I pressed on:

"They were easily willing to throw one of their best naval officers to the wolves for the sake of political convenience, despite having numerous other options. The Council of Five does not think long-term, because they are too busy with their byzantine political games. If we want the batarians to survive as a species, then we need a strong executive power, which will have the support of the masses, not a barely competent autocracy."

That definitely sounded more to Solem's liking. I also noticed that Arien Loray's eyes perked up. I had their full focus now and decided to milk it for what it was worth.

"What do you have in mind, lieutenant?" asked Das'Maral Tarak, clearly interested.

I activated my omni-tool and it displayed a dark red banner with yellow markings. It had the logo of the Batarian State Arms Corporation in the middle, surrounded by four stars. This coat of arms was enveloped by a laurel wreath similar to the one on the long-defunct United Nations flag.

"Lo and behold," I said jokingly. "The Union of Batarian Solidarist States. Single-party, capitalistic technocracy using revolutionary and socialist rhetoric. This is the idea that will win us the support of the masses and will allow rapprochement with the Citadel Council and the Systems Alliance. When the time comes we will be able to not only present a united front against the Reapers, but we are sure to drive them back where they came from," I lied through my teeth with a million-dollar smile, akin to a used car salesman.

Solem sighed and nodded his acquiescence. He and Zaeed immediately started discussing the particulars of the deployment of their batarian assets, while I shared with them some files that I'd compiled so far. It included the information on the proposed government type, changes to the economic system, possible expansion of the military forces and political alliances that could be made in the future. While they sorted through the files that I gave them, I closed my eyes so they wouldn't see the cold terror that I felt.

The Blue Suns and Zaeed might have received bits and pieces on the Reapers and their capabilities, but I kept the full Intel on them in my newly-upgraded brain. Our chances were slim at best as it was, but I had to give it my best shot. As I frequently reminded myself – doing nothing was criminal.

'Shepard,' I thought grimly, still smiling an insincere smile as I nodded at Arien Loray. 'I will give you the fighting chance that you didn't have before. That is a promise.'

END OF CHAPTER 10

* * *

**A/N: And thus concludes the Chapter 10 of our story. Hope you liked it and please stay tuned for some more of Multiverse Effect, which should come sooner than you fear and later than you hope.**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	21. Chapter 11 - There Will Be Blood, part 1

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect videogame is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: I am back after a five month hiatus. I know, I know... my life got pretty hectic recently. I changed jobs, took steps to go back to the university to get my degree and whatnot. Mass Effect had been on my back burner and I needed to take some time off. Writing just wasn't giving me any joy, so I decided to leave it be until my muse is back.**

**I still can't promise any regular update schedule - the weekly updates that I had planned when I first stated putting this story up went pretty much out of the window after the first few months. Also, my job is now more demanding and time-consuming, as such I have considerably less time to write. Still, the story is not abandoned, until I say it is.**

**As a small compensation for the long wait, the chapter is 9,5k words long. :)**

**My Beta is still the one and the only Redentor **

* * *

**Chapter 11 – There Will Be Blood**

* * *

_Instead of a man of peace and love, I have become a man of violence and revenge._

_Hiawatha_

* * *

Khar'shan

Harsa System

Kite's Nest

Earth Year: 2173

Khar'shan was a despicable place. What were the Batarians thinking when they designed their capital? The architecture was scattered and ugly, the streets were dirty and cramped and apart from a few more representative quarters the whole of Khar'shan City smelled of rotten fish for some reason. A neat trick, considering the city was nowhere near the coast. If I were the Hegemon I would have had my urban planners shot for designing such a travesty.

Of course His Ineffably Glorious Majesty the Hegemon could hardly give a damn about the state of the city. He, along with the other higher-caste batarians lived in opulent villas in the countryside, away from the hustle of the metropolis. It was the lower castes and the slaves that actually suffered living in the overpopulated, dirty and smelly city. Still, from what I heard the Batarian cities were only marginally worse than the cities on Earth in 2173 AD.

'I guess blowing up the place is actually doing them a favour,' I thought as I activated the detonator.

'I wonder if the newest episode of 'Hyetiana Hotel' had already been uploaded to the extranet. Need to check it later...'

My random musings were cut short. The steel and concrete wall of a nearby warehouse exploded outwards, raining deadly shrapnel on the patrolling Police Service air-car that happened to be passing by it. The air car was overturned by the shockwave. It had been hugging the ground when it was struck and it smashed into the wall of the building across the street, instantly killing its passengers. Some bystanders started to scream when they saw the mangled bodies of the passers-by who were unlucky enough to be caught in the blast radius. Most of the pedestrians, street-smart Batarians, dove for the nearest cover should the explosion be followed by machine gun fire as had been common in the past. Batarians had learned by now that when an attack happened they should find some sort of shelter, and when the immediate danger was past, to quickly vacate the premises before the local police started swarming the scene in force. Hegemony Police were habitually itchy in the trigger fingers.

When it came to extorting money from prostitutes, running protection rackets or beating up a couple of punks, the local cops were your men. Unfortunately for them and luckily for us, they were ill prepared to deal with acts of organized terror. Their standard procedure was to seal up the area and arrest anyone they could get their hands on, regardless of their culpability. It wasn't that surprising really – police officers were underpaid, poorly equipped, completely unmotivated and they lacked a dedicated counter-terrorism branch. The State Police Service, it was a bombastic name for the sorry bunch of lazy sods who formed the criminal department of the batarian police force. Training standards for the law enforcement in the Batarian Hegemony had always been poor, but in the last few years they had reached new lows, with the sole exception of the political secret police, more commonly known as the Internals, as they themselves were vital to the regime's day-to-day operations. The Hegemony was too preoccupied with funneling money and resources into their defense budget to maintain the strength parity against their newest rival – Earth's Systems Alliance. No matter what the Department of Information Control says, the money did not in fact grow on trees, so each credit spent on the Hegemony's military buildup had to be taken from other areas of vital importance, such as housing developments, transportation infrastructure, healthcare and of course, law enforcement.

The Batarian Hegemony, partially due to institutional inertia and partially due to its conservationism and slow decision making process had only began to wrap its collective head around the fact that it had a terrorist group in its midst. Meanwhile, the law enforcement and other government agencies were running around like headless chickens, from one crisis to another. If it wasn't a bomb planted in a public place, then it was a large-scale contamination in one of its production facilities. It had been nearly four months since we extracted Commander Balak from the 'Aratoht Gamma' base and in all this time we had been steadily sabotaging the Hegemony's war making capabilities basically unchecked. We exploited the weakness in the batarian political system, that no one thought to use before, because both Systems Alliance and Citadel Council did not wish to engage in such activities unless an actual war was declared – the sole exception being the STG, but the Salarian Union had no common border with the batarians and as such they were considered a secondary threat. Obviously, the Confederacy's Security Branch had no qualms about starting a campaign of terror, since their approach to issues such as 'civilian casualties' or 'collateral damage' was lax to say the least. We also heavily utilised the Batarian extranet, using their equivalent of the TOR system and distributing propaganda materials and videos of our revolutionary group – the Batarian Solidarist Party. I was tempted to name it 'socialist' for simplicity's sake at first, but I didn't want to use a name from human history knowing the batarians' distrustful attitude toward other races. I wanted the Batarians to be looking within their own ranks, not open doors for them to pick a human scapegoat. It was better to make them think they came up with it themselves, so the multiversal equivalent of the socialists would have to do.

From the Hegemony's point of view it would have been reasonable to declare martial law and put the State Police Service under the jurisdiction of the Batarian Internal Police Force, if only to insure the police had much more competent staff. Of course, that was not to be. The interdepartmental fighting waged in the Hegemony made the Multiverse Confederacy (or even the Systems Alliance) look like mere lovers' squabbles. The State Police Service would rather see the Hegemony burn than surrender a single officer to the Internal Police. The State Police Service ExeCom, or Executor-Commissioner had explained their feelings best:

"The terrorists are our adversary, but our enemy is the Internal Police Force."

Speak of the devil. I used my helmet cam to zoom in on the incoming patrol air-cars and a single tracked armoured personnel carrier, which appeared from God knows where and was rolling down the abandoned street. I smiled – it seemed like I was in for a treat today, seeing as all of the air-cars bore the insignia of the State Police Service, while the APC undeniably belonged to the Internal Police.

The Batarians did not disappoint. Some of the local cops had laid down take-down barriers to keep any civilians from contaminating the crime scene, which was pretty dumb to begin with, seeing as all the civilians knew better than to hang around. A few cops went to the overturned patrol car and tried to access the crushed vehicle. Meanwhile, an ambulance, its horns blaring loudly, belatedly arrived and landed on the other side of the barrier. Two medics disembarked and entered the sealed off area to administer first-aid.

On the other side of the crash site a slightly different kind of drama unfolded as the commander of the local troops was currently engaged in a shouting match with the commissar of the Internal Police Forces, who demanded entrance to the area. I aimed my directional microphone to catch what they were saying.

The cop was waving his hands madly as he angrily yelled at the Internal Police officer.

"Commissar, this is my crime scene and I demand that you vacate this area immediately! This situation will be resolved by the _real_ police, not your bloody thugs!" he added venomously.

"Obviously, the people responsible for this attack are abolitionists and fifth-columnists, so the perpetrators fall within the Internal Police's jurisdiction!" retorted the commissar sharply.

"You're only allowed to investigate if the local State Police precinct commissioner provides you with a written request, commissar. Until that happens, leave!"

"In the time it would take you to get your act together the saboteurs will be long gone. If you let me interrogate some locals I could get a clearer picture of what transpired here and capture the perpetrators before they are beyond our reach!"

Two other cops watched this exchange with varying levels of interest as did two Internal Police agents who were standing by the APC. Neither of them made any moves that could be interpreted as hostile, but all men had weapons at hand should they attempt to.

The ranking cop laughed at the irked Internal and made a hand gesture, which I recognized to be rather rude and dismissive in Batarian circles.

"Nonsense! The perpetrators are criminals and as such they will be apprehended by the State Police Service according to standard operating procedure. We don't need YOU terrorizing the local population, thank you very much! Now scram!"

It was now the commissar's turn to laugh.

"Your third rate personnel are lucky to have found their boots in the morning! But fine! We will leave it to you... for now," he added ominously.

The cop gave a sharp nod and turned away from the commissar – a very disparaging gesture. The internals climbed their APC, but the commissar would not leave without a parting shot. He aimed his finger at the sergeant, "When you crawl back begging for our help, as you usually do, I will see to it that it's you personally who has to come and ask, sergeant!"

The coppers ignored the Internal's jab altogether and the APC revved its engine and slowly moved backwards on the street. The State Police officers that were standing with their sergeant all this time, now had adopted very satisfied smirks on their faces, when they saw the Internals' retreating vehicle.

As the police officers went back to their work in securing the area I decided that I had gleaned all the information I wanted. After nearly four months of terrorist actions I felt rather numb towards it, but I still couldn't bring myself to look at the wounded and dead civilians on the street. A glass of whiskey now and then sure helped with assuaging my guilt. Just the one however. I'd already had one person approach me with reservations regarding my habits. I wasn't about to invite another.

I went down a steel passageway and jumped down from the two story building. My Interceptor armoured suit had built-in anti-grav dampeners. Although they were primarily designed to work in concert with the gravity wells deployed by combat dropships, they were enough to protect me when my body hit the ground. I got up from the slightly cracked concrete floor and quickly scanned the back alley where I landed to make sure nobody saw me. At the exact same time, across the narrow street an automatic warehouse door opened revealing two frightened batarians. My upgraded eyes identified them by their brown jumpsuits – construction workers employed by the Ministry of Labour – they presented no threat.

For a second or two we stared at each other and then I barked in my best commanding voice.

"The revolution is coming, comrades! No army can stop an idea whose time has come!" I remembered the recruiting pitch that we came up with back at the base – we had to spread the idea of the Solidarist Party as much as we could. The Victor Hugo quote was my own addition of which I was rather proud.

Batarian workers were never much for heroics and both of them nodded at me frantically. If I were in their shoes, I would have done the same. Still, neither of them moved from the spot.

"The fuck are you looking at, comrades?! I was never here!" I said sharply, raising the barrel of my assault rifle ever so slightly.

Both men scrambled to the control panel and pushed the holographic buttons frantically to close the door. Behind my helmet mask I smirked slightly. Every job had its perks.

Because they had seen me, it made me think that perhaps it would have been prudent to kill them, but I decided against it. Firstly, I wanted to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties if I could – enough people had died already and multiple lives had been written off as collateral damage by some clerk back in Confederacy's space. Secondly, if we wished for our little rebellion to succeed we would need the support of at least a portion of the population and hunting down innocents would be counterproductive. Thirdly, thanks to the Hegemony's ruling class and their obsession with control, the lower classes were whipped into blind obedience and fear. They would pretend to not have seen or heard anything, rather than report to the State Police or the Internals and possibly be arrested as my 'accomplices'. Batarian law enforcement cared little for the snitches and were perfectly willing to put them up as scapegoats if necessary.

Additionally – they would make sure that word of the rebellious 'solidarists' spread amongst other batarians. Eventually they'd start wondering if rebellion was better or worse than living under their current regime. All it would take was one Batarian asking that question in earnest and all this effort would be validated.

Seeing as the alley was now completely empty I called for my team to arrange evac.

As I signaled for the 'Coronado' to pick me up, the familiar feeling of a worm-hole engulfing my body was a welcome change.

Momentarily, I appeared back on the bridge of the 'Coronado', giving a quick nod to Garem Rod'barr who was sitting at one of the computer monitors. I left the room without saying a word, as I activated my omni-tool to begin compiling a report on my latest activity.

As I opened the omni-tool's menu I also noticed a message from Commander Ka'hairal Balak – as usual it was terse and straight to the point. Balak and I would most probably never be on friendly terms, but at least we'd managed to strike a working relationship. I was still more than happy with it, knowing how rocky our start was.

* * *

Three months ago

Acheron Shipbuilding Co. TAETRUS FIELDS facility

Planet Acheron (LV-426)

Hourglass Nebula

The poor bastard sitting in front of me looked nothing like the confident Batarian External Forces officer that we brought in here a few weeks ago. A combination of intimidation tactics, a cocktail of drugs that he consumed on a regular basis and the pictures of his family in our custody were enough to slowly grind down Balak's defensive mechanisms. Add to that the fact that he was basically the Hegemony's enemy number one now and you could see that it wasn't a good time to be in Kah'hairal Balak's shoes. He was a trained commando and he passed the batarian equivalent of SERE with flying colours in his time, but just like anyone else a breakdown was just a matter of time and the proper stimuli.

I'd been interacting with Balak for a while now, alternatively threatening him or asking him the same questions over and over again. He was sleep-deprived and constantly hungry, which made his overall disposition worse, but I could clearly see that the batarian was entertaining the idea of cooperation more and more with every passing day. Today was the day that I would finally make him agree to my demands and then immediately crash the house of cards that I'd been carefully constructing around him in the past month.

"Your name, surname and rank," I asked quietly, my hands folded in front of my face, signaling my impatience to the tired batarian. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that I still wore the helmet, but my prisoner was already used to the fact that he couldn't see my face. I'd been very careful to maintain my 'batarian' persona at all times. When he finally found out that he'd been in the custody of humans all this time it will hurt so much more.

Balak was pale, his skin taking a greenish hue due to poor nutrition and drugs but his voice remained steady.

"Ka'hairal Balak, Commander, sir."

I pressed a key on my holo-tablet, bringing up the pictures of the destroyed Aratoht Gamma facility once again as I responded. Balak had seen them so many times now that he didn't even bat an eye at the destruction they showed.

"I'm afraid that you had been stripped of your rank, Ka'hairal. At the moment a proper form of address for one such as you is Private Second Class. That is until you had been discharged from our glorious armed forces altogether, which is only a matter of time. The pen-pushers are as slow as usual, I'm sure you know how it is," I sounded genuinely apologetic as I tilted my helmeted head in a friendly manner.

"Yes sir, I know." He responded evenly, but I noticed his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

I gave no indication of seeing the momentary lapse in composure as I spoke again in a conversational manner.

"You see, private Balak. I seem to have a small problem with you now. I know that you are a traitor to the Hegemony; there is no doubt about it. I feel that my men and I had given you ample time to give up the identities of your abolitionist associates. It saddens me that you failed to take this opportunity and remained reticent. I am afraid that we can no longer afford to waste time, especially if you continue to remain uncooperative."

Balak began protesting almost immediately, his voice carrying a tint of desperation.

"I have told you many times now, that I had nothing to do with the terrorist faction that attacked our base. I had received my marching orders…"

I banged my fist at the table, the enhanced power of my Interceptor armour leaving a sizable dent in it.

"Shut up, private, I am talking now! You had your chance to talk and you wasted it!"

Seeing as Balak was pacified for now I continued in a friendly tone as if nothing had happened. The dent was the only evidence that it had.

"Private Balak, as I was saying we seem to have found ourselves at an impasse, which is not a good thing for either of us. Also, it is my sad duty to inform you that your daughter has suffered a minor accident."

THAT got his attention. I noticed his shoulders tensing up and his eyes locking onto my concealed face with barely restrained horror. I smirked, seeing as clear as day that he was debating whether to attack me or to plead for his daughter's life. I kept talking in the same mild tone, ignoring his frantic behaviour.

"Do not worry private, she is fine and will make a full recovery. Your wife is with her at all times, as she is being treated by our best medical specialists. Accidents are just that – accidents. It's not like any one of us could have prevented it from happening, right?"

The last sequence was spoken in a very deliberate manner, as I slowly leaned towards my batarian prisoner. My body language was threatening, making it crystal clear what will happen should Balak continue to refuse cooperation.

"Make no mistake, Ka'hairal. It was only my compassionate heart," I almost snickered at the irony of it all, my voice steadily rising in volume. "That allowed your daughter and your wife to remain together for the period of your incarceration. I've had enough, Balak. And so have my superiors. Either you start talking right now, or I will put your daughter in solitary confinement with mouldy bread and irradiated water! And the only company your wife sees will be the soldiers of the Hegemon's Guard, in a state of dress unbefitting of their position – and they are considerably less compassionate than I am!"

I stood up and pushed the holo-tablet towards the restrained prisoner.

"Sign the damn confession, private!"

"I didn't do it!" was the panicked response.

"You won't get away with it this time, you traitorous scum! Sign the confession!"

"For the ancestor's sake, it wasn't me!"

"The confession! Sign it!" I bellowed, nearly wincing at how distorted my voice sounded. Like a chain-smoking Darth Vader.

"I just followed orders! I had nothing to do with the terrorists!"

I walked up around the table and approached Balak. I grabbed his collar and started shaking him uncontrollably.

"You two-eyed maggot, are you deaf and blind? I will whore your wife to the slave camp, do you understand?!"

"They are innocent, they've done nothing wrong!"

"You are a traitor! Their suffering is your bloody fault! Your daughter's pain is your responsibility!"

For a moment I thought I went a bit too far, because the Balak stopped fighting me altogether. I let his collar go and he dropped on the table like a broken puppet with the strings cut. I left him there as I sat down on my own chair on the other side of the interrogation room. Looking at him curiously, I noticed tears streaming down his face and all four of his eyes were closed in pain. At that very moment he looked to me more human than ever before. I barely heard his whisper.

"I confess…"

The moment was very awkward and it made me feel like a total bastard, knowing that I strong-armed his confession, but I still had a role to play.

"I did not hear you, private!" I barked at him.

"It was me, all of it!" He shouted at first, but then he remembered who he was talking to and lowered his voice. "I joined the resistance and sabotaged the base. I don't know the names of my associates, but I will fully cooperate with the Internal Police to track them down. Please do not hurt my family."

The last sentence was barely a whisper. Have you ever had this feeling that you thoroughly fucked up? Well, that's pretty much how I felt at the time. My conscience was screaming in my head, begging me to stop this charade and leave this tortured man alone, but the Security Branch's conditioning worked its magic as it always did. I merely pushed the holo-tablet toward Balak and gestured impatiently for him to sign the document.

With his hands shaking, my batarian prisoner signed the confession that confirmed his association with the terrorist group known as the Batarian Solidarist Party and its military arm – the National Revolutionary Army.

I activated my omni-tool once again, preparing my mind transfer and walked around the table to stand by the broken External Forces operator.

"What else do you want? I signed everything you asked for..." Balak's voice was devoid of all emotion, but his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.

"For your cooperation, you will receive your just reward, commander," I deliberately used his real rank.

Batarian looked up, confused.

"What reward, sir?"

"The truth. And the truth will liberate your soul, Ka'hairal Balak," I replied.

Leaving those words hanging in the air, I connected my data-transfer app to my prisoner and watched dispassionately as he lost consciousness.

* * *

As I said before – we had gotten off to a rocky start. When Balak woke up again, he saw me for the first time without my helmet. While he did not attempt to attack me – he was thoroughly broken and depressed by my interrogation – he wasn't too happy with me either. Despite that, we managed to have a fairly civil conversation, which I used to explain the threat we were facing, namely the Reapers. When, after an hour or so, Balak brought up his interrogation I replied with the words I had been preparing for him since the beginning.

"I did what I had to do, commander. The question is – how far are you willing to go to save your people?"

"And destroying our culture justifies that?" he asked sceptically.

"If it saves lives – absolutely. The Hegemony wasn't simply conquered by the Reapers. It was completely and utterly destroyed and the batarians were slaughtered like cattle. I'm going to prevent this, with or without you, commander. What you have to decide, is whether you want your family to die beholden to the culture and government you have always known, or whether you will do your best to ensure they live. Albeit under a regime of our choosing. Because that is the real issue here. Not one of culture or of politics. But of survival. And as a soldier, I'm sure you are intimately familiar with this type of issue." I said with an air of finality.

I stood up from my armchair – we'd already replaced the uncomfortable metal chairs that were there previously – and started pacing.

"I chose you, because you are a true patriot and if your mission history is anything to go by you're also willing to do what needs to be done to protect your people. You have to ask yourself, what should come first – the good of the batarians or the good of the Hegemony's establishment. Because you know it and I know it that the Hegemony won't do even remotely enough to prepare themselves for the Reapers."

I stopped in the middle of the room and looked at Ka'hairal. As was customary, I focused my view on the upper pair of his eyes.

"I am going to fight the Reapers, because that's what I was trained to do. You are one of the few people who know what is at stake and I need to you to make a decision now."

"What is going to happen if I refuse?" he asked. To his credit, he didn't sound too bitter about it. Just calculating.

"You're not going to be sent to the uranium mines on Acheron, if that's what you're worried about. Of course, letting you go is out of the question – you're fugitive number one in Batarian space, thanks to our little propaganda campaign. Basically, you would be transferred to Confederacy's space with the next shipment and placed in a medium-security stockade managed by the Security Branch. Of course, your family would be held separately to ensure your good behaviour," I added with a false smile.

"I wouldn't worry then, lieutenant. I'm not going to stand by while my people are fighting for their survival," Balak responded tersely.

I nodded and gave him the holo-tablet with the document he signed before.

"You will be promoted to the rank of captain, effective immediately and you will be placed in charge of the Special Operations Command of the National Revolutionary Army."

Balak responded with a derisive snort.

"So, I am the officer in charge of the non-existent command in a fictional army. Who do I report to? Is it the Revolutionary Hegemon, or some other figment of your imagination, Dubois?"

"You report to me directly, Captain Balak, until we form a proper government."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," He snickered with derision again, "But it seems like I have no choice but to play this game of yours."

Calling it a 'game' was irony if I ever heard it. But something about his dismissive attitude rubbed me the wrong way. I sat down on the chair and looked at him seriously. We sat there silently for a heartbeat or two, but when I spoke again my voice was cold as a winter's night. Which in Poland got pretty damn cold.

"This is not a game, Balak. Understand this – ultimately the Reapers are your problem, not mine. If all this," I gestured with my hand around us. "Goes to shit, the Confederacy will whisk me out of here quicker than you can say 'the killer robots are coming'. I sympathize with your situation, I truly do, but I'm not going to die here for a galaxy that is not willing to save itself."

'And for the people who are not my people, but characters in a video game that I used to play on my days off,' my traitorous brain added viciously. 'Not to mention that the Confederacy are as likely to leave me hanging, when the shit hits the fan.'

"Do not presume to understand my motivations, Dubois. I know what my duty is and I don't need a bloody merc to lecture me on that," He responded sharply.

It seemed like my big reveal (and the subsequent mind transfer) subdued somewhat his memory of my interrogation. In itself it wasn't bad per say, since I needed him on top of his game, not blabbering about his wife and daughter. On the other hand, I wanted him to remain loyal to our cause – that's why the vast majority of the batarians in his command would be the Blue Suns contractors handpicked by Solem and Zaeed. Should Balak prove to be less than reliable, he would be swiftly removed from his post. Taking a page straight out of Joseph Stalin's political manual? But of course! Why reinvent the proverbial wheel if the old and trusted methods worked just as well.

The freshly minted Captain Ka'hairal Balak of the Special Operations Command of the National Revolutionary Army wasn't loyal or trusted by any stretch, but I could work with him. He understood what we fought for and I could be certain that he'd remain an asset for the time being. I didn't need him to like me, but to produce the results I required. Only time would tell whether enlisting him was the right thing to do or not.

* * *

Present Day

Orbit above Khar'shan

Harsa System

Kite's Nest

Earth Year: 2173

A quick scan of Balak's report only served to confirm what I had already realized some time ago. I wasn't a very prideful person, but admitting it still left a bitter aftertaste.

He was much better at this job than I was – that was the simple fact of the matter. He had an intuitive insight into Special Forces operations, while also having the know-how on running efficient staff work (granted, he was an exception in the Hegemony, rather than a rule). No amount of training or data-transfers that I received could replace the hard-earned field experience he's had for the last ten years or so. Living through Galtieri's combat memories was akin to learning to play piano while deaf. Unless your name is Ludwig van Beethoven, you won't be able to master it until you hear the sounds for yourself.

Nonetheless, I was glad to have him. The Special Operations Command, or the SOC, were expanding their ranks and recruiting heavily among the disaffected batarians in the Traverse and the Terminus Systems and many of them were veterans of the Hegemony's army and navy. Of course, the core of loyal, highly-trained specialists was supplied by the ever helpful Blue Suns. Although Solem Dal'Serah still had his reservations about the planned revolution, he understood why I was doing what I was doing. He still found the talk about equality and the abolition of slavery in the pamphlets of the Solidarist Party distasteful, the elitist prick he was, but at least he wasn't actively working against me.

Balak's report was short and to the point. The last two lines of it contained a quick summary:

_All Aratoht mines sabotaged; will take apx. 7 weeks to get them operational again. Strong agitation amongst the labourers and slaves; a number of people recruited. Requesting staff meeting – strategic goals to be established and discussed ASAP._

If it was a staff meeting he wanted, then a staff meeting he would receive.

We'd managed to gather most of our commanding personnel in the mess hall of the 'Coronado' – the wormhole technology had proved to be as useful as ever. Sooner or later we would work on transferring the technology to our allies in the Mass Effect universe, but until the Batarian Hegemony was neutered the Security Branch was reticent about any technological upgrades.

Apart from WO Rod'barr, Corporal Rakehal and I, there was also Balak with two batarian officers (a male and, surprisingly, a female) that I was not familiar with. All of them wore the new green-ish uniforms of the National Revolutionary Army, and seemed to exude an air of extreme competence in them. The uniform itself was rather simplistic and utilitarian in design and apart from the officer's insignia they only had the crossed yellow hammers of the Batarian Solidarist Party on their collars. Zaeed Massani and Das'Maral Tarak wore their blue service uniforms and represented the Blue Suns. The PMC, apart from supplying the competent manpower for the revolution, was also working hard on bringing the Terminus Systems into our aegis. 'Acheron', thanks to the Confederacy's money and know-how, had been transformed into a veritable military-industrial hub, supplying vehicles and weaponry to the batarian revolutionaries and various other groups that were willing to pay. If anyone had a problem with the Blue Suns expanding as much as it was in such a short period of time, they weren't talking. Not surprising. With Zaeed back in charge, they knew the Suns would respond with considerable and lethal force.

I started the meeting without any delays and nodded briefly at the people surrounding the table.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Captain Balak requested a staff meeting to discuss the strategic goals of the National Revolutionary Army, as envisioned by the Batarian Solidarist Party manifesto."

"It's a wonderful piece of propaganda. Did you write it yourself, lieutenant?" asked Balak snidely, but I decide to ignore his jab. I merely gave him a dark look and continued on.

"As I was saying, it is imperative that we discuss the long term strategic goals for taking control of the Hegemony and establishing a populist and democratic form of governance."

I turned to Zaeed and Tarak and asked them.

"But first things first: What is the situation in the Terminus Systems and the Attican Traverse?"

Tarak was the one to answer that question.

"At the moment Solem is handling negotiations with Jona Sederis of the Eclipse Corporation, discussing a possible merger, lieutenant. That would give us access to a number of veteran asari commandos as well as Salarian tech specialists, which would be a considerable boon for both conducting combat missions and providing us with much needed manpower for the R and D department."

As usual, he consulted his omni-tool. It was Tarak's rather baffling quirk – he couldn't say or do anything without checking the documents first. I wondered whether he consulted the device when he flew gunships, which I knew he was proficient with.

It was an open secret that even with the Confederacy's money the Blue Suns research and development was, to put it kindly, lacking. A merger with the Eclipse could be only a good thing.

"We are doing well on that front, Dubois my lad. The Eclipse have seen the influx of money that our newest 'government contract' brought in and they want a piece of that pie for themselves. Whatever they're getting from their security jobs on Illium and escorting drug shipments is peanuts compared to our financial turnover nowadays," Zaeed said with an amused grin, the contentment of the situation drawing a rare 'my lad' from the aging merc.

That was true. Although most of the paperwork these days was done by Lox I still had to check it every now and then, to keep track of what is going on. The amount of money and resources that came from the Confederacy, both to the Blue Suns and the batarian Solidarists was truly staggering. I read once that the CIA in the 20th century had more money than a medium-sized Latin American country, but in comparison the Security Branch was in a league of its own. Saying that the Multiverse Confederacy was a post-scarcity society with mostly automated production and distribution was one thing, but actually seeing them freely throwing money and resources at an _interplanetary_ insurgency was something completely different. It felt like playing a strategy game using cheat codes, no joke.

There was one more thing that I wished to ask.

"How successful were you in reaching the Shadow Broker, Zaeed?"

I'd lost quite a number of sleepless nights thinking about the elusive information broker. Barla Von's informants reported very little and the volus himself had to tread carefully to maintain his cover as a loyal Shadow Broker agent. Thus, I decided to ask Zaeed to use the Blue Suns contact channels to get in touch with his past employer.

The old maverick responded with a frown.

"The Shadow Broker won't interfere with us... for now. He isn't happy about our consolidation of power in the Terminus, but he knows me well enough and he trusts my judgment to some extent. He is still willing to trade information with us. Also, I'm fairly sure that he took notice of you, Dubois. He's most likely unaware of who you are, but I'm sure that he'll be watching you."

"Do you think he will contact me directly?" I asked the mercenary.

Zaeed replied with a grim smile.

"Who knows? The Shadow Broker has his own agenda, lieutenant."

There was nothing else to say, so I nodded at Massani and turned to Balak, who was listening intently to our conversation, and prompted him to speak with a slight wave.

"I would like to know, Lieutenant Dubois, what are the long term plans for our insurgency? I admit that the recruitment from among the lower castes and the freed slaves is steadily increasing the manpower of Special Operations Command. In fact the recruitment it's going better than I expected. But we can't hope to overthrow the government with air-car bombings and sabotage alone."

"You are correct, Captain Balak. The work that you and I have done for the SOC, like your latest contamination of the Aratoht mines, or the agitation among the labour force are merely some of the facets of the Batarian Solidarist Party's agenda. Additionally, we have agents recruited from among the Blue Suns, who are arranging underground sleeper cells around which we will build future military formations, when the time for uprising comes."

Corporal Rakehal's omni-tool beeped twice and she turned to me.

"It's an urgent message, sir."

I excused her with a slight nod and called up a map of Hegemony space. The holographic image spread above the mess hall table, indicating various core planets and colonies and adding the latest information from our intelligence agents. I pointed at Aratoht, which had a slightly reddish colour on the map.

"Aratoht with its relatively low population had been receiving a steady and huge influx of batarian immigrants from the Terminus. There have been as many as twenty thousand of them in the last month alone. They are all our men and women, recruited by the Blue Suns."

The two batarian officers exchanged a surprised glance, while Balak nodded to himself as he thought out loud.

"Good idea. Many people on Aratoht have been dissatisfied recently with the governor's decisions, especially regarding the treatment of the slaves in the pit mines. Governor Thar'Amon re-established the punishment of decimation in the slave work gangs, but the free labourers were threatened with it as well. The Solidarist-I mean, OUR propaganda has done its job, fuelling the flame of discontent. The Army and the External Forces have been called out from the barracks and stationed in the major cities and production hubs, but from what I heard the governor doesn't feel like he can be certain of their loyalties."

I smirked at the mention of the disloyal soldiers. The Batarian Solidarist Party manifesto made a lot of promises to a lot of people, but they were phrased in a certain way, blaming the misfortunes and the poverty of the Hegemony's citizens on the corrupt and decadent elite. Its purpose was to drive a wedge between the establishment and the people on the streets, as well as to establish and nurture a sense of common interest between the lower castes and the slaves. It worked splendidly, especially because a lot of it was the truth, if slightly embellished. And it wasn't very long before word of mouth reached the batarian enlisted personnel in the barracks, despite the strict filtration of content in their extranet terminals and omni-tools. Quite a few soldiers had already been recruited into the cause and were actively spreading the knowledge of the Solidarist movement and its goals among the rank and file. The sleeping giant of the batarian lower classes was slowly stirring from its apathetic slumber and nowhere else it could be seen more than on Aratoht. It wasn't a revolutionary fervour of epic proportions as of yet, but the governor of Aratoht still had much to worry about.

As I remembered all that, Balak was still talking.

"There are a number of tactical units of brigade and division size planetside, but none of them could be considered combat effective partially due to the usual logistical problems and partially due to dissent in the ranks," He added with a sigh.

I almost felt sorry for the man. Regardless of my own feelings towards the Hegemony, it had to be very difficult to see the military and the state you served all your life unfold before your very eyes. The fact that it had to be done could not have been very comforting.

Zaeed broke the uncomfortable silence with his usual laid-back drawl.

"Having second thoughts about your involvement, Balak? Perhaps you're thinking of selling us out to that child-fucker, Hegemon?" He asked challengingly while Tarak on the side masked his derisive snort with a cough. While Zaeed could work with the batarians just fine, Tarak being a prime example, he disliked Ka'hairal for some reason.

"Some of us actually cared about the people we had been sworn to protect," Batarian operator bit back scathingly.

"To use, exploit and trample, you mean?" Warrant Officer Rod'barr asked snidely. He had been unusually silent this whole time. I shot him a warning look, silently barring him from getting involved further in their argument. I could do no such thing with Zaeed, who cared little for the social pleasantries and cared even less for my orders. It wouldn't do for everyone at this table to hear Zaeed openly disregard my orders.

"While there were officers who took certain liberties and abused their position, I was not one of them," responded Balak coldly, straightening his posture, not intimidated in the slightest by any of the Blue Suns. The two officers who accompanied him seemed similarly undaunted.

"Then what the hell is your problem now? Dubois explained it time and again, why the government changeover is necessary, Balak. Is there still something that you do not understand?" Zaeed, never the one to let things rest, pressed on.

"Gentlemen…" I tried to interrupt them before it escalated out of proportion, but they ignored me completely.

Ka'hairal flexed his fists and replied, "I'm fully aware of what is happening, Massani. A lot of people will die, either way. Although I should know better than to expect someone like you to understand."

"And what was that supposed to mean?" growled the veteran mercenary.

"Well, you don't seem to give much thought to the collateral damage at all. I heard that you planned to use a nuclear device to terminate Vido Santiago, when he was on Korlus…"

"Hah! Ka'hairal 'Five-Rounds-Rapid' Balak is giving me lectures on collateral damage? That is beyond rich, don't you think Das'Maral?"

"Well Zaeed, I'm sure he had the best of reasons to gun down those turian POWs," Added Tarak acidly, eyeing the former External Forces operator with a less than friendly glower.

"Listen, you expired gun-for-hire…" started Balak with a nasty sneer.

That was the moment when I had had enough. Why a group of grown-up, experienced men (and women) would be acting like a bunch of bloody teenagers, arguing over past misdeeds while we had a real problem on our hands, I will never understand.

"All of you, simmer down!" I bellowed, finally fed up with their pointless argument.

That gave them pause and all of them turned their gazes upon me. Zaeed seemed to be ready to pounce on Balak, Tarak hot on his heels. The three batarians from the National Revolutionary Army seemed ready to fight as well. Balak stood with his fists raised, while the male batarian had produced a knuckleduster from somewhere. The female officer especially looked quite frightening with her teeth bared in anger.

"Debating ethics in a room filled with trained killers? There is an expression on Earth involving black pots and kettles, gentlemen. I will save myself the trouble of acquainting you with it, however. The condemnation of men with blood on their hands by men with blood on their hands has no place in this meeting."

Zaeed and Balak both scowled at each other across the table, mollified somewhat by my observation, but still very much annoyed by one another. But they were smart men, career soldiers. They calculated odds and actions. They both came to the same decision. Angering the man who paid their bills for a brief moment of self-righteousness was not worth it.

"Thank you, now then…"

I didn't get to finish my sentence. The sliding door opened and a wide-eyed Tabitha Rakehal barrelled through them. Without excusing herself in front of the ranking officers she typed something frantically on her omni-tool and the map of batarian space swiftly changed to display a televised event.

The camera was shaky as it was held above the heads of a cheering crowd, but the image was surprisingly clear. The timestamp in the corner confirmed that whatever was happening was being filmed live.

The picture was showing the front garden of the Aratoht's governor's palace. The usually spotless, green grass and pristine shrubberies had been trampled beyond recognition and there were batarians standing about the place, waving their fists at the sky and chanting a vaguely familiar song. The camera lens zoomed in onto one of the vintage lamp posts in front of the governor's mansion. From the lamp post a figure of considerable girth was hanging, stripped of its clothes and heavily mutilated. All four of his – for it was a batarian male – eyes were gouged out and his hands were tied behind his back. The body was so badly battered that it took me a moment to recognize Thar'Amon, the younger cousin of the batarian ambassador, who incidentally happened to be the governor of the planet Aratoht. The mob surrounding him kept throwing stones and piles of dirt at his carcass, despite the fact that he was clearly dead. The camera was shaking even more than in the beginning because its operator, presumably, was cheering along with the ecstatic crowd.

The camera focused on another batarian, standing on the bench, by the impromptu scaffold. This one was wearing a simple brown jumpsuit – the insignia of the Ministry of Labour were torn off, but it must have been a new addition to his uniform, since the darker patches where they used to be were clearly visible. The man was pointing at the hanging governor and giving a rousing speech, which we couldn't hear because of the loud background noise. Judging from the crowd's fervour he could be sharing with them his shopping list and they wouldn't care either way. Another batarian joined him, but this one was a female and wearing a military uniform with NCO's markings. She raised her hands and the crowd fell silent.

"Comrades, let the Chairman Kas'entar speak!"

The camera shot back onto the man in the workman's uniform and I asked the people gathered in the mess hall, "Do we know who this man is? Is he one of ours?"

Balak confirmed my query with a nod and said, "He's the one in charge of the 12th battalion of the Civic Militia in Aratoht City."

Zaeed exchanged a quick look with Tarak and the batarian commander nodded his head.

"He's one of our Legionnaires. He's a loyal man, with a good head on his shoulders. A good soldier, too."

I looked back at the screen.

"What about the woman?"

"She could be one of the new recruits. She could be a deserter from the armed forces. Or she could be just lucky enough to get caught up in a moment," responded Ka'hairal with a shrug.

"Balak, you need to find out more about her, since she's clearly in a position of authority with these people. Contact this Kas'entar and have her identity confirmed. She could be a loyalist plant, and we can't risk that."

The Captain of the Special Operations Command nodded his head and we all looked at Kas'entar saying his piece. He expertly controlled the crowd with his body language. The revolutionary swept his arm in front of him, the gesture encompassing all the people in front of the governor's palace and on the streets.

"Comrades, this had been a glorious day for the solidarist cause! Today we've managed to bring down the heavy jackboot of the ruling caste and here he is!" He pointed at the hanging man. "This useless waste of space sat on his fat bottom, thinking himself untouchable from the Peoples' Justice. But we will bow to the likes of him no more!" Kas'entar spat out the last part venomously.

The crowd gave another rousing cheer in response to his words. But Kas'entar was not done yet and he silenced them with another gesture.

"But this man forgot that his riches and his honours were given to him by the will of the people. He forgot that he had a duty to the people! He failed in his duty and the people had judged him and found him lacking. The judgment dispensed was swift and fair!"

I resisted an urge to shake my head. This was a lynching, plain and simple – there was no justice in it. But then again, it wouldn't be the first revolution to be built upon a body of lies.

"Today is the beginning of a new era for the batarian people and all the races who wish to join us! Today we march and fight as one! Today all the people of beautiful Aratoht are joining us and our comrades on the other planets of the Hegemony in fighting the oppressor! Because our cause is righteous and just! No longer will we be pawns in the game of their thrones! I say – no more!"

The crowd reacted predictably, by cheering again and repeating 'no more' after Kas'entar, but this time their frenzied roar of approval was louder and longer. The fists were raised to the sky once more. The camera aimed its lens at the governor's palace. The Hegemony's dark banners were torn down and a large flag had been hoisted in their stead. It was bloody red in colour and it had a black stripe on the side with four yellow stars on it. The banner had a black circle in the middle with the two crossed yellow hammers of the Batarian Solidarist Party. The design of the flag was simple, aggressive and to the point. The short bursts of machinegun fire and the frantic cheers of the crowd gave the fluttering revolutionary banner an ominous background.

Kas'entar's speech was over now. He waved at the gathered people once again and stepped down from the bench he was standing on. The roused crowd broke into a song once again. It was a tune from a different time – a time long past – but I recognized it now. 'The Internationale' with its lyrics carefully adjusted to reflect the new era.

_So come brothers and sisters,  
for the struggle carries on.  
The Interplanetary  
unites us all in song.  
So comrades, come rally,  
for this is the time and place!  
The Interplanetary,  
Unites us all in space._

Shakespeare it was not – but it didn't have to be.

I was stunned, way more so than the others. There was no denying that what happened on Aratoht was the result of my actions so far. And once again, fate decided to mess with my plans just a little bit with the general uprising starting way too early than I wanted it too. Thomas Jefferson had once said that the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants – a rather grim take on moments in history when ideology and nationalism were roused among the people. Still, I couldn't have found better words to describe our situation now.

The others, as expected, had been less than impressed by the video and were already planning accordingly. These men and women had seen the real face of war before and even now I could see Zaeed and Balak enabling the holographic map to discuss the opportunities and challenges of an early uprising, their previous disagreement completely forgotten. Corporal Rakehal was on the radio once again, passing the information to the Blue Suns' command, while Rod'barr was hailing Solem Dal'Serah. Balak's two batarian officers had their omni-tools turned on and they were rapidly sending messages to their subordinates on Aratoht to try and coordinate the events planetside. The Civic Militia and the National Revolutionary Army units on the planet reported in, weaponry and armour was being distributed and key industrial and military targets were marked. I had no illusions. It was not going to be easy to coordinate with the chaos we currently found ourselves in.

Balak turned to me and asked politely, if with a faint hint of scepticism, "So Dubois, your revolution came early. What are you going to do about it?"

I pushed my self-doubt to the deepest recess of my mind and looked at the men and women around the table who still waited for my response. I answered the batarian's question with a confident smile.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen. It's time that we made history."

I wish that I was half as certain as I sounded.

* * *

**A/N: That's it for the first part of the Chapter 11. It's been a while, but the next update will be coming soon. Once again, I can't promise any strict schedule when it comes to updates, since I have other commitments as well, but the story is not abandoned until I say it is. Or I'm dead. Whichever happens. ;)**

**Have a good one!**

**RosoMC**


	22. Chapter 11 - There Will Be Blood, part 2

DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect videogame is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

**A/N: This is the second part of Chapter 11. This time we travel to the Aratoht where the revolution has just started. It's a proper mess, but Dubois has to, as usual, makes the best of the crappy situation.**

**This update is approximately 8,6k words long.**

**My Beta is still the one and the only Redentor**

* * *

Aratoht City

Planet Aratoht; Bahak System;

Viper Nebula

Earth Year: 2173

Each time a fire is started, the insurance investigators and firemen look for the point of origin. It helps to determine the place where the spark struck and what was used as the accelerant to allow the fire to spread. The same rule applied to any revolution – the 'accelerant' was usually the underlying structural problems that the country had and the spark a particular event that caused the violence to break out. In the case of the _Ancien Regime _in France the accelerant was the debt caused by multiple wars (including, rather ironically, the American Revolution) and an unfair taxation system that favoured the privileged few. The spark that had started the revolution was the king's decision to disband the National Assembly. From that point on it was only a matter of time before violence broke out.

A very similar scenario occurred on Aratoht – and thankfully only on Aratoht and other planets of the Bahak System, since our sleeper cells stationed on other Hegemony planets were quickly ordered to stay put for now. The agitation we stirred up amongst the lower classes turned out to be much more potent than I initially thought. In my defense, very few people actually believed the batarian public to have enough potential to overthrow their own government, no matter how ruthless, hectic and incompetent it became. The solidarist propaganda pointed out the gashing flaws in the Hegemony's system, especially the unfair treatment of the free labourers, who often were no better off than the slaves. The inherent problems with the system, along with the solidarist agitators created a tense situation, which in the last days seemed ready to explode.

The spark that started the revolution was a wages dispute between the chosen worker representatives and the factory manager. The workers did not particularly care that the man had no authority to discuss their salaries and they refused to work. One of the foreman lost his temper and struck one of the disaffected labourers and for that he was promptly beaten to death by an angry mob of workers. From then on the situation escalated rapidly. The solidarist agitators gave rousing speeches, while the sleeper cells of the Civic Militia, seeing a golden opportunity, called up their men and distributed firearms. And the rest, as they say, was history.

The silent war we had been waging against the Hegemony had turned very loud indeed in the span of just a few days.

And I was responsible for it. It frightened me, but I was strangely excited, too.

Night-time in the city was dark, and its jagged skyline was only lit up by the occasional fire which no one could be bothered to put down. The firemen had either long deserted their stations or had been conscripted into the Civic Militia and were now fighting for their lives somewhere in the concrete jungle. One way or the other, fires were running unchecked around the city, but thankfully the city was mostly made of concrete and hard synthetics which did not make for a good fuel source.

I would imagine that Aratoht City had seen better days. At least that's what I thought as we slowly marched through the empty and deceptively silent streets of the megacity. Its concrete warehouses and synthetic megastructures looked dark and ominous, because some genius had shut down the power grid for the entire area. Distant, hollow sound of exploding artillery ordinance, along with the sporadic gunfire in the background only added to the grim atmosphere. The fighting moved to other parts of the city, so it felt like we were entering a tomb.

I was accompanying Balak and his SOC 'flying column' on their way to the Orbital Defence Command, which Balak was determined to capture. We flew into the city aboard the appropriated military transport from, ironically, the Aratoht Gamma base. Enlisted men of the batarian army had been deserting in droves for the past few days, their officers and NCOs powerless to stop them, so any equipment from the few abandoned bases were easy pickings. The 'Krush'pah' transport shuttle was hastily painted over with the blood-red crossed hammers and the Batarian State Arms logo surrounded by the four stars and laurel wreath – a battle flag adopted by the National Revolutionary Army.

We marched in single file. I was in the middle of the formation on Balak's direct order – not because he particularly cared about me, but he understood that the Confederacy would be footing the bill and supplying his men with weapons only as long as I was alive. Not entirely unreasonable. Even if his reasons weren't sound I would not have dared to dispute him – Galtieri had beaten into my head that the chain of command was to be preserved at all times during combat operations. I was still wearing my Interceptor Armour with four eye-pieces just to be on the safe side. I decided to forgo my usual plasma-coilgun and carried the Batarian State Arms Terminator assault rifle instead, deciding that blending in with the National Revolutionary Army soldiers that surrounded me was the way to go. The streets were covered in rubble, as both the loyalists and the revolutionaries had no qualms about calling in their artillery support on the blocks of flats. As such, we could not use any of the captured vehicles and had to traverse the city on foot with some gunships providing air cover and harassing loyalist strongpoints and bunkers. We were slowly moving toward the Orbital Defence Command, which was still in loyalist hands. If we managed to capture it, it would become much easier to repulse any relief force that the Hegemony was sure to send to Aratoht.

But to get there we had to walk which took a damn age to do.

Meanwhile, fighting in the urban areas was raging on and it felt like the end of the world was upon us. The Civic Militia and the National Revolutionary Army regulars (which consisted mostly of former Blue Suns mercenaries) were clashing with the still significant number of loyalist troops and the Batarian Internal Police Force. The State Police Service felt the wind of change coming and threw in their lot with the revolutionaries, mostly to spite the Internals whom they hated with a singular passion. The Internal Police Force commissars, on the other hand, were acutely aware of what was going to happen to them, should the revolutionaries gain the upper hand. So they fought like cornered animals. While the two armies battled on, the angry mobs of dissatisfied labourers and freed slaves rampaged across the city looting and pillaging. They also dispensed the 'Peoples' Justice' on their former managers, foremen, slave drivers or simply on the poor souls who were unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire and weren't quick enough to declare their support for the revolution. I tried not to think of the countless innocent lives lost in the few days that had passed since the fighting started. I already had trouble sleeping at night and a single tumbler of whisky just wasn't cutting it anymore.

Suddenly, the batarian scout leading our platoon raised his fist in warning, rousing me from my grim mood. We immediately took cover behind the large piece of concrete debris, while I noticed some of the batarian soldiers disappearing into the concrete jungle like ghosts. Balak was by my side so I turned to him and asked quietly.

"What is it?"

Batarian didn't responded at first. Each time we met he seemed rather peeved at the fact that he had to report to me, despite his superior rank and experience. But above all he was a professional soldier and he followed orders.

"That building across the street is the Orbital Defence Command. My men are surrounding it as we speak."

I eyed the ugly, non-descript office block. It was made of steel, concrete and glass and to an untrained eye looked similar to the majority of buildings in Aratoht City. But I'd been in this business long enough to immediately notice the reinforced steel plates installed in lieu of windows on the bottom floor. The majority of them surely housed automatic turrets, and other unpleasant surprises. There was a large square in front of the Defence Command building that gave its occupants a clear field of fire. Also, the h-barriers and concrete walls were deployed in a planned manner, and any frontal assault would undoubtedly be funnelled into pre-sighted kill zones, causing numerous casualties to any attacking force. I could see no enemy activity so far, but a quick scan with my omni-tool revealed that there was a huge amount of radio traffic coming and going from this place.

Balak looked at my omni-tool's display.

"It seems like Orbital Defence Command is being used to coordinate loyalist forces in the city. If we capture it intact we not only disrupt their command and control, but we may be able to recover data, radio codes and orders. Maybe even replace their radio operators with our own and trick them into giving up their troop movements and locations."

"What of the intelligence gathered by the Civic Militia and our sleeper agents before the hostilities broke out?" I asked.

Batarian shook his head sharply, which almost made his armour creak.

"We can't bank on that. Batarian State Armed Forces are the galaxies foremost experts in misdirection and misinformation. No gathered intel can be fully trusted."

So we would be dealing with the _maskirovka_ as the Soviets would say. Fair enough – we had to take the Orbital Defence Command either way.

"Then I suggest that you put me on the forefront of the assault, captain. My armour and my shields can take much more punishment than yours, so it would be best if the enemy concentrated their fire on me while your men flank them."

Batarian looked at me for a long while and it made me quite uncomfortable. I couldn't see his eyes through the visors, but I could imagine that he wasn't very happy with that idea. I know I wouldn't be.

"That's a negative, lieutenant. You are our sole liaison to the Blue Suns PMC and the... Confederacy. We can't risk you getting hurt or killed in combat – you are way too valuable."

While I appreciated his argument, the less mature part of my brain still wanted 'in' on the action. There was no argument that fighting gave me a thrill, and I wouldn't be denied. But I was also intensely aware that I was much better equipped to handle close combat than Balak's SOC 'flying column', irrespective of their actual training. There just wasn't enough time to properly supply all of our soldiers, since the revolution on Aratoht caught all of us with our pants down.

"I insist, captain. I am a trained operative and my equipment is far superior to the gear your men were supplied with. This is the best course of action, given the circumstances."

Balak was still conflicted about it. On one hand he knew enough about my technology to see that the danger to my well-being was negligible. On the other hand, his military conditioning screamed at him to 'protect the VIP at all costs'. But I'd been negotiating with the Zaeed Massani for the last four months – convincing Balak was a piece of cake in comparison.

"Captain, if you are uncertain as to the durability of my equipment, that's fair enough," I gestured at the Orbital Command Centre. "But this place is a bloody fortress and it will cost us many men to capture it at all, let alone intact. As such, I suggest to forgo the frontal assault altogether and let me use my cloaking device to infiltrate the building and disable at least some of its defensive measures."

I switched from the command frequency to a private one and I spoke directly into Balak's helmet.

"If necessary, I can call in my team and we are sure to make enough mess to give you the opening you need."

While my idea was rather unorthodox for the former Batarian External Forces officer, he was nothing if not pragmatic. Still, he felt compelled to ask me the obvious question.

"Is this cloaking device of yours any good?"

"You know from personal experience that it lets me get to any place I want to be," I didn't even bother to hide my amusement at this jab.

Balak tilted his head in irritation, which left me smirking even more. The batarian officer flexed his fingers.

"Let's do it your way then, lieutenant. But if anything happens to you, this Confederacy of yours better put you back together. We still need your support."

At his dismissive gesture, I simply nodded my acquiescence and activated my cloak. I left the safety of the fallen debris and moved swiftly towards the building.

After the long and tedious march to our objective it felt exhilarating to run again. I used my HUD and the app installed in my eye to mark any points of interest, as well as possible choke points. They would later be sent to Balak, who would distribute them down his chain of command, to keep them up to date. My cloaking device, in addition to distorting the lighting and making my armour 'transparent' also covered my heat signature by coating my body in a tiny layer of miniscule, interconnected wormholes, which siphoned my natural body heat and vented it all into my surroundings . If anyone used a thermal scan of any kind on me, they would only notice a slight increase in temperature in a rather large area. Had I been going against the Confederacy's soldiers it could be worrying, but the Batarian loyalists would have no idea what that signified.

Of course, for all its high-tech magic my Interceptor armour wouldn't protect me from my own stupidity if I, say, stepped on a tripwire. But it was more than good enough to do its job.

As I jumped quietly over one of the h-barriers that blocked the way to the entrance and approached the wall of the building I felt... right. Why? Because that's what I was trained for. I only had some bare bones competence in managing the funds that were going to the Blue Suns and the Solidarist insurgency from the Confederacy. I was a good enough negotiator if I needed to be. But I was a well-trained and experienced infiltrator and soldier. I felt confident in my combat skills, which were honed first in the months of gruelling training with Security Branch and later in combat against the Hegemony. Whoever the loyalists had in this building would be no match to me – it was as simple as that.

While confident in my abilities, I came to terms with the fact that I would never be as infamous as Zaeed Massani or Shepard. But I was okay with that. It didn't matter anymore. That wasn't my purpose in any case. It would be a more apt statement to say that I had never had aspirations to be anything even remotely comparable to them. Zaeed was a legend and Shepard was an icon. I was no-one. A fake name on a piece of easily shredded paper in a locked and guarded cabinet. A string of ones and zeros on a hard disk, strapped with thermite. My identity was as fragile and malleable as a piece of child's playdough. I couldn't yet say if I regarded that to be a good thing, or a bad thing, but it increased my chances of survival by a significant margin.

The concrete wall of the Command building was slightly jagged and marked with small holes – it seemed like it came under machine gun fire recently. I activated the anti-grav holds on the feet and hands of my armour and used them to stick to the outer wall. Without further delay I started my climb upwards.

Going in through the main entrance would be a rookie mistake. Even if the loyalists didn't have it under constant watch, which they undoubtedly did, they would still booby trap it with explosives. I'd have a much better chance of scaling the outer wall of the building and finding an entry point at a higher level.

It didn't take me long to find a window that had been broken by the recent fighting and after quickly scanning for traps, I used it to enter the building. I reported immediately to Balak and to my team who were on the stand-by aboard the 'Coronado', the subvocal receptors of my armour easily capturing my subdued whisper.

"Infiltration successful. Tell your men to maintain positions, captain. Wildcats, stay frosty for drop if needed, over."

The 'Wildcats' nickname that we used during our training days had stuck and I kept using it throughout our deployment to the Mass Effect universe. I couldn't decide if we had chosen it for sentimental reasons, or because it sounded so unbelievably corny. Or both. Sometimes soldiers needed a bit of sentiment and humour, for obvious reasons.

Swiftly scanning the room, I noticed that it must have been used before as a rec-room. There was a large holo-screen on the wall, a couple of comfortable chairs and two vending machines with drinks and snacks. From now on I had to be very careful how I used my omni-tool, because any interaction with the building's electronic grid would be noticed for certain. I had to keep my radio traffic to a minimum as well. Any transmission could be intercepted. And while they wouldn't be able to decrypt it, they would know right away that a foreign presence was invading their territory.

I left the rec-room and used an extendable fibre optic camera installed in my left arm to check the corners, but the hallway outside was completely deserted. I moved through it quietly, keeping my cloaking device up at all times, mindful of the energy bar at the bottom-right hand corner of my HUD. The PDW and the pistol I carried with me had suppressors installed, but they would be used as a last resort only, because any bodies that I left behind increased the chance of my discovery.

After traversing the deserted corridor I arrived at the door near the end from where my suit's radio could pick up some jumbled communications. Once again the extendable camera came in handy, as I watched the long fibre optic cable uncoil itself from my suit. I obviously couldn't risk opening the door, so I activated my uplink to the 'Coronado' and whispered.

"Specialist Fahri, do you copy?"

The answer from my Moroccan subordinate was instant.

"Yes, el-tee."

"I need a keyhole for the fibre optic cam."

"Roger that el-tee."

The comms went silent. For a heartbeat nothing happened, but then I noticed a very small wormhole opening right in front of the closed door. Trusting Specialist Fahri's skills, I used my fibre optic cable once again and put it into the miniscule wormhole, which I hoped would not be noticed by any loyalist that were behind the door.

No such problem – my cam feed showed four batarian troops sitting in a room. Each of them sat in front of the holographic screen and neither of them wore any armour, nor were they armed. From what I could read on their screens it seemed like they were one of the teams responsible for the automatized defences of the facility. They had to be eliminated.

I made one more sweep with the fibre optic camera, relaying the specifications of the room to my HUD and marked the targets. I withdrew the camera immediately afterward and signaled Fahri again.

"Specialist Fahri?"

"Yes, el-tee?"

"Make the wormhole larger. I'm going inside."

I made sure that my pistol was loaded and ready to fire, double-checking the electronic display on the back and the suppressor. It was a conventional mass accelerated firearm, but against unarmoured targets it would suffice.

What I was about to do was called wormhole-stepping. Basically I used wormholes generated by the 'Coronado' to move about confined spaces, akin to the video game _Portal._ In normal circumstances it would be a risky move, since TechnoFeds and other enemies of the Confederacy could easily detect the opening wormhole and either close it or, worse, disrupt it during the transit. Getting your body torn into two pieces, especially between two universes, was a sad and painful way to go. Still, here I had nothing to fear, since the batarians had no way of detecting the wormhole.

As the wormhole enlarged enough to accommodate my armoured frame, I stepped through it and landed in the command room. Since my cloak was still active and I took care to be very silent, the batarian operators were caught completely unaware. I rapidly fired four aimed shots at the enemy soldiers and two seconds later they were all dead, slumped over their screens.

I signalled Balak.

"All tangos down. Seems like they were operating the defences for the building."

"I have access to your helmet feed, Dubois," Came the impatient reply from my batarian ally. "Are you sure it's all of them? They could have more than one command centre for the defences."

"Negative. If there are any more in the building I'll deal with them."

"Good. Don't get cocky, lieutenant."

"Roger that," I replied with an unseen eye-roll at the batarian officer. Why don't you see to your own Balak, and I'll see to mine.

I linked my omni-tool to one of the holographic screens, after making sure that I masked its protocols, I accessed the closed network for Orbital Defence Command. Balak was right – there were bound to be more control rooms for the defence systems, if only to provide redundancy in case of hardware failure. I flexed my fingers like a concert pianist. Security Branch training, time to put you to the test.

I had to get Lox and Specialist Trang remote access, and I had to find out where the other control rooms were in the building. The later would be difficult. I had basic Security Branch tech training, but I lacked the finesse possessed by men such as Thomas Binh Trang. So get Trang access, and leave the rest to him I mused silently.

I went to work on the machine, copying the installation files for a utility program onto the control terminal. It was a clever piece of software developed by a Salarian engineer working with the Blue Suns. A cheap and cheerful way to gain access to the servers of a closed network. Simply put, it sent out packets of data to the domain controller of the network, requesting permission to access data on the network. If the systems administrator of the network was worth his or her salt, the request would come back as denied.

But the request itself was a ruse. The sending of the data packets was the point of the exercise. The program tracked the data packets as they passed through switches, routers, ports on their associated firewalls, and eventually to the server itself. Now I had a virtual road map to follow, right to the server itself.

But to exploit that roadmap, I still had to do the tricky part. I used the software I'd installed to monitor other data packets being sent out across the network, looking for very specific packets that were going to be sent to the server by my terminal. Then I brought up an extranet browser. Instantly the software filled with a blooming log of data packets coming back and forth from the server to my terminal. A server controls extranet traffic on a network. Client machines contact the server, which handles their request like an intermediary.

The software pinged happily, having recorded the entire exchange. Specifically what data packets were sent and the size of said packets. I closed the browser, then opened it up again. The packets were once again sent, but this time they didn't arrive at their destination. My software, having recorded the last exchange, knew just what packets to look for. Intercepting them before they were sent out across the network, my software utility replaced the contents of the packets with segments of another, smaller utility making sure to keep the size of the packets the same, down to the exact byte. Only a few characters at the beginning of the packets contents remained unchanged. The header. The header was like a senders address, along with the recipients'. Hopefully, the packets that had been sent to the server and been allowed through the firewall, and then compiled on the other end. At which point the packets would delete their headers, making the server basically believe that the data packets had been lost. The packets would run all the segments of the utility they housed, opening up a port on the servers firewall.

The data packets had to be the same size as the originals, because it even one byte was out of place, the servers firewall wouldn't have let them through.

"Moment of truth," I muttered to myself, before using the roadmap I'd built to send my data through the now opened port on the firewall. Once again, the software pinged happily. We were in.

"Lox, Trang, scramble their comms and send me a map of the facility."

"Roger that, el-tee." Both the android and my technical specialist muttered their confirmation.

The batarians had some very good firewalls guarding their network, but their simple VI's were simply no match for the combined efforts of the Artificial Intelligence and the whiz-kid that was Specialist Thomas Binh Trang. After five minutes or so the latter reported.

"Their communications are offline and I have access to their Orbital Defence grid. Do you want me to direct it in support of the insurgents in the city?"

"Do it, Trang. Keep control of the Orbital Defence network until further notice. Lox, I want you to black out their command centre and start broadcasting the message to surrender on all loyalist frequencies. Make it sound like it's the batarian commander that issued the order. Who's in charge here?"

Lox's answer was as laconic and precise as ever.

"According to the information in the system Brigadier Seymos Got'berhan is in command of the facility, provided he's still alive, lieutenant."

"Good, what about the defences in the building?"

"They have been disabled lieutenant, but the loyalist forces have been alerted to your presence and a fully armed security detail is in your way."

I smiled at the warning. The batarians wanted to kill me? How cute.

"Balak, are you hearing this?" I asked the batarian captain.

"My men are moving in as we speak. Can you handle the security before we come to relieve you?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?" I asked acidly, as I unhooked my PDW from my back.

"What's a 'Pope'?"

"I swear to God, no one here appreciates my rapier wit and biting sarcasm. Don't worry, Balak. I will handle them – no problem."

I walked to the door that led into the previously empty hallway. My HUD displayed the approaching batarian security detail, which numbered at least ten heavily armed soldiers. I could use the cameras of the headquarters, now that I was linked up to the defence network and I did so. The batarians from the way they walked and carried their weapons seemed like conscripts, but their NCO was clearly a veteran. Well, at least I knew who to shoot first.

Before they even had a chance to cross the corridor, my door opened and I opened fire. At the same time I activated my combat stimulants. The heavy cocktail of adrenaline boosters was pumped into my veins by the suit, heightening my senses and slowing the world around me ever so slightly. I used it sparingly. Stimulants such as these could make a human heart pump so quickly it would rupture itself. Not a pleasant way to go. Imagine a heart attack times fifty. The first burst from my PDW caught the batarian NCO squarely in the chest and he fell down onto his back with a whimper.

The rest of the conscripts stood like deer in the headlights, frightened by the ease with which I disposed of their commander, but I didn't give them a chance to gather their bearings. Two more bursts from my gun and two more bodies were sliding down onto the floor. Finally, one of the soldiers yelled in desperation.

"Open fire!"

The index fingers of the frightened soldiers found the triggers of their Terminator assault rifles and the shaved beads impacted my shields and the wall behind me. The conscripts didn't even bother with aiming, relying on the sheer firepower of their rifles. The one who shouted the order wasn't wearing any helmet and his eyes were closed as he sprayed bullets at me. I could see him stuck in a kind of permanent flinching motion, as the combined noise of seven Terminator assault rifles filled his ears in the confined corridor. Scared of his own weapons. Pathetic.

Those poor sods probably weren't even sure what was happening in the city and against whom they were fighting. I doubted that any of them wanted to die for the Hegemony. But I wasn't about to wait until they'd stopped firing and explain to them the error of their ways. They were standing in my way. And at that moment time was move valuable that their lives.

My PDW hadn't stopped firing for even a second. In contrast to the batarian's frantic shooting, which soon left their rifles overheated and venting, my short controlled bursts found their marks each time I pressed the trigger. One by one, batarian conscripts died left and right as I took them down. After thirty seconds, which had felt more like an hour, I was once again the only man standing in the corridor. The batarians were all dead or heavily wounded. I would have said that the threat was neutralised, but they had hardly constituted a valid threat. I turned down the influx of combat stimulants to a slow trickle, which would keep me on my toes for the time being and I contacted Balak once again.

"I've dealt with the security here, Balak. How is it going on your end?"

I heard gunshots in my earpiece, before his response reached me.

"We're in, Dubois! We'll take it from here, so evacuate immediately."

"I can still help..."

"That's an order, lieutenant! Report back to the initial assault positions for a debriefing. Balak, out!"

"Yes, captain," I responded crisply.

I felt like cursing at the order, but the chain of command had to be maintained at all times. Balak did not particularly like me. That much was clear, but I knew better than to take his decisions personally. To him I was much more valuable as an intermediary than as a combatant, no matter how good I was skill-wise. Letting me infiltrate the building was already pushing it, so he wanted me out of the immediate combat zone ASAP.

So I left the mopping up operations to Balak and his SOC, while I used the anti-grav holds to climb down the way I came. As I was hanging upside down I noticed that the previously empty courtyard was now swarming with batarian insurgents. The cavalry had arrived – if the Civic Militia conscripts bolstered by few Blue Suns veterans constituted such. They'd got a couple of Solidarist Party flags from somewhere and were hanging them wherever they could. I slowly descended to the ground and deactivated my cloak – the batarians didn't shoot me since I was marked as a friendly on their HUDs.

One of the batarian insurgents approached me. From the curves of the body armour I would have hazarded a guess that the soldier was female. She saluted and confirmed my guess, "Lieutenant Dubois, I've been ordered to escort you back to our command for a debriefing."

I simply nodded and followed her.

Meanwhile, the batarian insurgents were cleaning up the place. The orders were clear – the Orbital Defence Command was vital to the loyalists, so it had to be reinforced in case of a counterattack. We reached a tent, which was pitched very recently, but the National Revolutionary Army officers had already managed to establish a proper command post. One of the officers recognised me immediately.

"Lieutenant Dubois, please have a seat. We will wait for Captain Balak to conduct a proper debriefing."

I sat down in the proffered seat at the large table and tapped my foot impatiently. The batarian female soldier had been standing slightly behind me all this time, hands clasped behind her back. The picture of a dedicated soldier. Finally fed up with the silence I turned back towards her, "What's your name, soldier?"

"Staff Sergeant Latanya Kran'Torrel, sir."

"And how did you end up in the SOC with Captain Balak?"

"I was with the Blue Suns, sir."

"And how do you like it so far?" I asked, more out of politeness rather than any real interest in the subject.

"Its fine, sir."

It seemed like she wasn't one for conversation, which was fair enough. I shrugged slightly and used the moment of peace to normalize my stimulant intake. It wasn't advisable to turn them off immediately after a large burst of adrenaline, since it could result in my body going into shock and shutting itself down, so I set the suit to switch the trickling doses off after half hour.

* * *

Balak returned after an hour. Apparently securing the building and mopping up the last resistance took some time, but I refrained from telling him that he could have used my help in the process. First of all, I didn't particularly care and second of all, I didn't want to sound like a spoiled brat. When Balak sat himself at the table, we began the proper debriefing.

Batarian officers' reports were short and to the point, since they knew that their captain had little patience for long-winded speeches. The assault went as well as one might expect in our situation. My intervention surely saved some lives, but the attack had still done a number on the SOC. When it was my turn to speak I explained briefly what had occurred in the building. When I mentioned hacking into the mainframe of the loyalist network, one of the officers interrupted me.

"So lieutenant, was it your idea to broadcast the message of surrender to the other loyalist units?"

"Correct, sir. I don't have much hope for it to actually work, but I saw no reason to pass up the opportunity."

Another officer nodded in agreement.

"That was quite a clever ruse, lieutenant. We will keep broadcasting the signal, possibly even get Seymos Got'berhan to cooperate with us. We must avoid casualties at all costs. The Hegemony has reserves of manpower that we don't have."

But the first batarian was undaunted.

"I doubt that the Internals will choose to lay down their arms. They know what fate awaits them at the hands of the Civic Militia."

Balak raised his hand and they all fell silent. The first batarian actually lowered his head and looked at the floor, a tremendous show of subservience. This man truly commanded great respect, especially among these veteran soldiers.

"Lieutenant Dubois' idea to broadcast the signal was a very fortunate opportunity. Whether it works or not, it is certain to sow confusion within the loyalist's ranks. Their officers cannot be sure whether their soldiers will follow their orders, now that the doubt that they even have to go on fighting is weighing them down. This broadcast will make their situation even worse."

He turned to one of the junior staff officers who was responsible for communications and asked him, "Did we actually accept any surrenders after the signal was broadcast?"

"Yes, captain. Four regular garrisons have surrendered their weapons and turned over their equipment to the National Revolutionary Army. We accepted their surrender and they were sent off to the temporary prison camps we established in the liberated areas."

Another officer proffered a question that I had just opened my mouth to ask.

"Should we try and recruit them for the army, captain? We are really strapped for manpower, especially for specialists and technical support, even with the men sent by the Blue Suns. It will take time before the militiamen are trained up to our standards."

Balak thought about it for a moment and then with a slight tilt of his head, signified his approval.

"Very well. I believe that the regulars can be trusted enough with support roles. But any Internal that surrenders I want processed and screened."

I decided to point out another issue.

"Captain Balak, while I agree that keeping the Internals separate until the cessation of the hostilities is a good idea, I have to remind you that we will most likely need them in the future. Their expertise in weeding out dissidents is well-known and their reputation well-deserved."

Most of the gathered officers grumbled at that. They certainly weren't happy about including Internals in any facet of the new society that we were building. Even those commanders who found their methods useful, knew better than to voice their opinions these days. Only Balak and, curiously, Staff Sergeant Kran'Torrel (not that anyone asked for her opinion) seemed to consider my proposal seriously.

"We will talk about it at a later date, lieutenant."

The batarian captain stood up from the table and the rest of the officers followed suit.

"Comrades, that will be all for the debriefing, so you may leave. Commander Bras'vekan, Commander Prokkath please stay. Lieutenant Dubois, you too."

Everyone, except for the indicated soldiers and the junior staff left the tent. Staff officers busied themselves with paperwork, while the two Commanders, whom I recognized as Balak's entourage from my previous meeting with the Blue Suns, stood at the table waiting for their captain to speak.

The two batarian officers were a male and a female. Male was quite typical for a batarian. Unlike Balak with his greenish skin colour, Drephil Bras'vekan's skin was more traditional white, with red patches here and there that made him look like a burn victim. Apparently he was quite handsome for a batarian, but I couldn't really tell. Not that all aliens looked the same to me, but... Oh, who am I kidding? They all looked the same to me. My only saving grace was the fact that most batarians couldn't tell one human from another either and they weren't shy about saying it. Drephil himself was an outspoken man and he made it clear that he wasn't very happy about working with the Blue Suns, or humans in general. Still, he remained professional about it and that was all I asked for. He was a freedman though, one of the very few slaves in the Hegemony who was allowed to purchase his own freedom. But his experiences with the slave drivers had left him burning with hatred towards the Hegemony. When he was offered a chance to fight against the system, he took it gladly.

The female officer's name was Edanna Prokkath. She had been a lower-caste labourer, before she's been conscripted to the batarian military eight years ago. She was a soft-spoken and quiet individual, but anyone who thought those traits to be weaknesses was very much mistaken. Edanna could be vicious and deadly when provoked and due to her common birth and gender she had been provoked plenty during her service. Prokkath's experiences with the batarian military (especially the officer corps) where she had to use her body as much as her fists left her a rather disturbed and jagged individual. Still, despite having the proverbial deck stacked against her from day one, Edanna had climbed steadily upward in the ranks of the Batarian Armed Forces, desperate to leave her life of destitution behind.

When Zaeed was about to pounce Balak during our previous meeting it struck me that Edanna had looked for all the world like a cornered animal. I had no doubt that should they be allowed to come to blows, it would get deadly very fast. Zaeed was a legend, true, but in a confrontation with Commander Prokkath the outcome wasn't a foregone conclusion. To be completely honest, if it was up to me, I would have her carted off to see a shrink, but Balak swore that she could do her job efficiently. I considered pointing out to him that serial killers tended towards being very efficient, and it didn't really put me at ease. But I didn't.

I didn't like Balak and I wasn't very fond of his officers either, but that was not to say that I did not respect them.

Meanwhile, the silence was getting quite uncomfortable as we all looked at Balak, who was consulting something on his holographic screen. Just as I was about to ask him what this was all about, he looked up and said, "Please have a seat. There is something I feel you all need to be informed of."

We did as we were told. I sat down on the comfortable chair once more and crossed my arms waiting for my batarian ally to continue.

"I have been contacted through the Shadow Broker's channels by the Alliance's Naval Intelligence. They wish to get in touch with us," Said Balak without any preamble.

That was interesting to say the least. I honestly hadn't expected the Alliance to get involved at all in this war. Sure, I was aware that the Salarians and possibly the Turians would pay close attention to the happenings in batarian space, but the Alliance? It was long before the Skyllian Blitz and the political tension between them and the Hegemony hadn't reached its apex yet. My curiosity peeked, I listened intently to what Balak had to say.

"They have learned of our political agenda," When he said these words, the eyes of his officers turned towards me. I raised my chin in challenge, but nobody said a word. "And they wish to send military observers to assist us."

That was not unheard of, but strange nonetheless. Commander Bras'vekar voiced our concerns.

"That was quick of them, captain. Hostilities broke out when, two weeks ago?"

"That is correct, commander," confirmed Balak with a nod.

"Their reaction time is disturbing. I know that we all but shouted news of the revolution at the galaxy when the fighting started, but seeing that it caught even our own by surprise..." Bras'vekar trailed off meaningfully.

Commander Edanna Prokkath pursed her lips. When she did that, she looked quite attractive, for a batarian. I ceased that train of thought immediately. I was open minded. I don't think I liked the idea of being that open minded.

"Give them some credit, Bras'vekar," She responded testily. "I've done research on human Naval Intelligence and they are competent. We share a common border so they rightly fear that the conflict might spill over into their space. Humans aren't that stupid... no offence lieutenant."

She said that on purpose and she meant to offend, but I let it slide with a barely perceptible nod. Frankly, her opinion mattered very little to me and I wasn't about to get involved in some foolish argument because she was looking for a fight. Thankfully, Balak chose to intervene on my behalf.

"That's enough, Commander Prokkath," He said sharply. "We're here to discuss this new development, not to flaunt our personal animosities. Lieutenant Dubois is an officer of the Blue Suns PMC and our ally. You will show him proper respect, am I understood?"

Edanna Prokkath looked properly chastised.

"Yes, comrade captain," She said formally.

I chose to speak at that moment.

"From what I understand, the Blue Suns' involvement in this conflict is no longer a secret. Anyone with half a brain would have noticed that the new ships from Acheron Shipbuilding rarely join our fleets, yet they mysteriously find themselves all over the Bahak system bearing the Solidarist insignia. If it is alright with you, captain, I request that it be my responsibility to handle these Alliance observers. Of course, I will require someone from your chain of command to assist me."

Balak nodded thoughtfully.

"Very well, lieutenant. That is a very good idea and I'm certain that you are well prepared to interact with the Alliance. When they are here, Commander Prokkath will do everything in her power to help you with handling them."

Oh joy. Edanna Prokkath seemed just as enthused about our unexpected 'partnership' as I was. Well, somebody had to do it after all.

"Are you sure this is wise, captain?" Asked Commander Bras'vekar. "I know that lieutenant Dubois is an experienced negotiator, but he is still a junior officer and it might be perceived as a slight. We all know why Alliance intelligence is sending their representatives – they will be gauging our strength and political agenda. If they don't like what they find then they won't hesitate to strike us when we're weak."

That didn't sound like Systems Alliance _modus operandi _at all, but then again how could he know that? I decided to clarify.

"I disagree, commander. If the Alliance struck us when it's been broadcasted over the whole galaxy that we are fighting against the oppressive regime of the Hegemony AND the keeping of slaves, then public opinion in human space would go ballistic. Alliance Naval Intelligence is here for a different purpose – they want to determine whether we are viable as future allies."

Commander Prokkath seemed puzzled at my words.

"Why would they do that, lieutenant?"

"The Systems Alliance is standing alone now, a relative newcomer to the galaxy at large. First Contact with the turians got as bad as it is possible to get, so human standing with the Citadel Council is not as high as it could have been. Additionally, border skirmishes with the Hegemony are sapping at the Alliance's manpower and resources, which they can hardly spare given the political unrest. On the other hand, if the Hegemony was to be replaced with a regime more willing to trade and negotiate, then establishing a relationship with such a regime would be mutually beneficial. I can't say it for sure, but they might offer, unofficially of course, their financial and material support for our cause."

Now Balak was intrigued as well. He was savvy enough to see that getting the Alliance on the insurgent side would be a great political boon.

"I can see that it would be most, as you say, beneficial to us, Dubois. But what's in it for the Alliance?"

"I second that question, lieutenant," added Commander Bras'vekar. "They have nothing to gain from supporting an insurgency in the territory of their neighbour."

I raised my hand in a placating gesture and responded.

"Bear in mind that I'm only speculating, but if I were an Alliance politician I'd support our insurgency for three reasons. One, supporting an abolitionist force is a politically sound move if you take into consideration how abhorrent slavery is to the average Alliance citizen. Individuals would rush to declare their support, if only to advance their own careers. Two, as long as the Hegemony is busy fighting the insurgency, they can't risk any forays into Alliance territory, nor would they have the funds to support any slave raids. And finally, three: If our insurgency succeeds in overthrowing the Hegemony with the Alliance's tacit support, then we would be indebted to them and that would guarantee our support in their political negotiations with the Citadel. The Systems Alliance standing alone is merely one of the medium-sized galactic powers. But a Systems Alliance with the support of the batarians AND the Blue Suns is a force to be reckoned with, especially when negotiating a new trade deal, or, in fact, a human Spectre."

Surprisingly, Commander Edanna Prokkath was the first to agree.

"The Lieutenant's deduction is sound, captain. While it's mere speculation, it seems quite clear that the Alliance is unlikely to turn against us in the foreseeable future, given what they have to gain, and the decision they made to get in contact with us. I'm not saying that the humans are trustworthy, but they, like anyone, look out for their own best interests first and foremost."

I said nothing to this quite racist (specie-ist?) statement. It was the truth after all.

Balak nodded once again, still engrossed in his thoughts. After a moment of silence he voiced his opinion.

"So it's settled then. I will contact the Shadow Broker's agent and through him send our response to the Alliance."

"Do we yet know who they're sending, captain?" asked Bras'vekar.

Balak checked the message on his holographic screen once again before responding.

"We aren't sure yet and the details have still to be discussed, commander. Nonetheless, they've been mentioning two ranking officers rather frequently: Rear Admiral Boris Peter Mikhailovich and Commodore Paolo Kahoku, along with their respective security details."

Just barely, I managed to suppress a groan. It didn't seem like either of Balak's subordinates knew these men. Well, it was enough that I knew them.

Of all the people in the Alliance military, they had to send that one guy who'd actually met me in person. That was going to be a fun introduction, for sure.

Shepard, all the things I'm doing for you, you bastard. When all is said and done, you better be fucking grateful.

END OF CHAPTER 11

* * *

**A/N: That's it for the Chapter 11. In the next updates we'll be dealing with the political fallout of the revolution in the Citadel space, which will be huge and far reaching. The butterfly wings are now flapping to the max and a significant number of the well known characters will find themselves in different places than they were originally.**

**Thanks for reading and have a good one!**

**Cheers,**

**RosoMC**


End file.
